Clan Terakian
by machievelli
Summary: The Planet Naboo calls upon the Mandalorians to defend them. But The Clan has other plans...
1. Chapter 1

Clan Terakian: A StarWars/Heavy Metal (Taarna) crossover

As the title implies, I have had this story (Originally a fantasy world where the last survivors of a clan by that name marches primarily to end their long servitude) kicking around in my head for longer than most of you have been alive.

You have stories of clans bound to serve as guardians for people, in fact the primary reason I loved the Taarna segment of Heavy Metal was that a warrior, the last of her race and clan still goes off to fulfill the pact her ancestors made, even unto death.

But my story is a bit darker. By moving it into the Star Wars Universe, I came up with this...

2000 years BBY:

The enemy

Riyal, crown prince of Naboo paced down the hall toward the Residence. He saw the guards standing every five meters along his walk.

_Guarding my father against what_? he thought. _An absolute monarch afraid of his own people. Needing these mercenaries to protect his life_.

He stopped at the door, the two guards stiff, yet watchful. As he approached to less than ten meters, they stiffened even further, hands dropping to the sub-machine guns at their sides. If he had approached another two meters they would have killed him even as they identified him._ So sorry, Your Highness, your son violated the perimeter you set and was terminated_.

"Yes, my lord?" The senior asked.

"My father sent for me." He replied. The soldier touched the communicator stud on his wrist, and his lips moved as he spoke sub vocally. Then he snapped to attention, and the door behind him opened.

"Enter."

Riyal passed them. The Sitting room of the residence was huge. He considered that an extended family of fifteen would have enjoyed that much space. _All of this just to have a place to show off in_. His father was busy at the desk, just about the size of the cargo bay of a plane. It was big enough to be a bedroom for that huge family. He stopped before the desk, ignored. He waited; his father liked his little power plays, and even his own son had to deal with that.

Miraz, King Imperial of Naboo looked up. "Casaway has demanded that we surrender our world to them."

Riyal stared at him. "What can we do, Father? We have no army; we are a peaceful people."

"You will get the army for us. The Terakian Clan of Manda'lor."

Riyal shook his head. "The Terakian are a myth, father. No one has seen them since before you were born."

"They exist. They have not been called since my grandfather's time, but they still obey the pact. With them to defend, we are invincible."

Riyal mentally shook his head. His father was expecting a childhood story to save them! Could their own people not do this? Even as he asked the question, he had to answer it himself.

No.

The Terakian had protected his world for ten generations, had fought and died so that Naboo could live in peace; but eight generations of peace were no preparation for war and an invasion. As much as he hated the logic, his father was correct.

"How do I contact them?" He asked.

"You will take your scout and go to Concordia, the moon of Manda'lor. When you arrive, you will use this program." He handed across a chip. "They have separated themselves from their people because of the pact. When they receive the message, they will guide you down. You must show them this." The king took off his ring, and held it up. "When they ask, you will do this." he twisted the red stone inset into it, and the stone lifted. Beneath the stone was another chip.

"Three generations ago, Sogan the Usurper made a duplicate of this ring and went to call the Terakian. His brother, the true heir took the true ring to also gather their support, but half of the clan as the pact calls for had already been sent to usurp the throne.

"He was adamant, and the remainder of the clan left to fight their own. After the fighting ended, the Terakian inserted this chip in the true ring. We don't know what it holds, the heir, my grandfather was told that any attempt to read it or duplicate it would destroy the chip, and void the pact." He handed it to his son. "Go, bring them."

"At once, father." Riyal took the ring, closing his hand over it.


	2. Concordia: Ambush

Concordia: Ambush

_Slipstream_ came out of hyperspace with a burst of Chernekov radiation. Riyal shut down the hyperdrive motivator, looking at the planet and the huge moon before him. Manda'lor and Concordia, sometimes called the Concord Moon. He didn't know much about the worlds themselves, but like anyone who enjoyed history he knew about the Mandalorians! Two millennia ago they had been the bogeymen that mothers used to terrorize their children in submission.

He took out the case with the contact information in it. The case had two symbols on it. One was of a red bird with bifurcated wings. The other was a stylized rendition of it, looking like a dagger with the paired wings as the guard, the symbol of the Terakian Clan. He opened it, took out the chip, and fed it into the reader in the communications console, hitting the play button. Now how long-

"Ship signaling, identify yourself." A harsh voice asked.

"Scout _Slipstream_ from Naboo, Prince Riyal commanding.

For a long time, there was silence. "Follow the approach vector." A course flashed up, and he fed it into the auto-navigation system. It look to be halfway around the-

There was a flash to his left, and a contact appeared on his sensor screen. Then his ship rocked as lasers blasted into her tail. He grabbed the stick, automatically negating the autopilot, jerking into a dive toward the moon. The Casawayans must have known what his father would do and had sent a ship to stop him. As he dived, he looked at the mass reading. Small, barely larger than his own ship. But armed, which he was not. He desperately maneuvered, slapping the communications console.

"Mayday, mayday. This is _Slipstream_. I am under attack. I repeat, I am under attack." He stayed as close to the approach vector he had been given as he dodged fire.

"Understood."

_That's all_? He growled. _They're trying to kill me, and all you can say is understood_? The navigational shield lit up as his ship hit atmosphere. More of the console lights were red than anything else, meaning serious damage. The ship was going to crash, there was no other landing option.

"_Slipstream_, download the approach vector into a pad and eject from your ship now."

"Are you out of your fracking mind?" He screamed.

"We can kill the attacker, but not if we have to shoot around you." Came the calm reply. "You're going to come down only ten klicks out from our compound. Follow your instructions."

Cursing in the languages he knew, he maneuvered, and at the same time, clicked a pad into the communications panel, and set it to record the vector. He needed three hands to do it, but succeeded somehow. Then he snatched the pad out, slapped it into a pocket, and leaned back, pulling the ejection ring between his legs The ejection system kicked him in the butt with what felt like fifteen Gs, and he blacked out for a second as the life pod shot up from his dying ship. For an instant he saw the battered ship flash past him, then it exploded, the debris scattering toward the planet below.

Something shot past him, a black ship following his own. It looped upward, rolling to come back after him. Then something flashed below, and a bolt of fire ripped the attacker into scrap which barely missed his lifepod.

All he could do for the next minutes was sit there like a crated cargo as the lifepod began the auto landing sequence. Then he was bounced around like a ball in the hands of a demented child learning a game requiring that you bounce it as hard as you can. He counted seven bounces before the pod finally came to rest.

He shook himself, then pulled the handle for the hatch. It protested, then slid upward and open. Grumbling and feeling very put upon, he stood, stretching his back. Then he looked around. He was in a forest. All he could see was trees in every direction, except for the shattered ones where his pod had plowed into them then bounced out to shatter still more on a zigzag course behind him for several hundred meters. Hot metal still fell out of the sky, and he ducked as something hit the ground a few meters away. Finally the metal rain stopped. Nothing but silence.

He staggered from the life pod, and only then remembered the survival pack. More sotto voce grumbling as he went back, retrieving it from under the command seat. Not much in it; a few ration bars and slip bottles of water, a rebreather mask for hostile environments, a knife and a sidearm. He put on the belt with the weapons, slipping the pack over his shoulder, then pulled out the pad. There was a red arrow, and he turned until he faced the way it pointed. That way.

The forest was tightly grown, but the branches were high enough that he only had to deal with the underbrush. It wasn't like he hadn't been in a forest before. It's just the Royal Forest Preserve near the capital of Theed had paved paths and drinking fountains along them. He was used to his wilderness being better organized.

As the wildlife finally decided all of the hullabaloo was over, they again reasserted themselves. There were calls, and grunting, a roaring sound and chittering. Some kind of arboreal monkey troop followed him for a hundred meters or so, complaining at him with shrieks and bellows.

He paused to take a sip of water, and that was when he noticed the stench of death. The air was still, so he must be approaching it. Something, or maybe many somethings had died, leaving behind a charnel reek. He didn't want to get any closer to whatever had caused that if he could avoid it. Yet the direction arrow pointed right into it.

He pulled out the rebreather. A full faced mask with a small hyper-compressed oxygen tank; with it on he could no longer smell the funk in the air. He'd walk a hundred meters more, then take it off to check before going on.

He walked on. The underbrush had been cleared away from here at some time in the past, and he made better time. He decided it had been a hundred meters, and started to reach for the mask when he heard a growl from ahead. Ten meters in front of him, something moved. It paced from the growth, and now he could see it. A red animal with brown stripes crouched there, tail lashing angrily. It had a wide head shaped like a spade, and more teeth than he might ever have imagined in a mouth that was wide enough to swallow his head. It stood even with his waist, and the claws that shredded the ground would be more than enough to kill him without those teeth.

He took a step back, matched by the animal. The growl had a clock like sound, going up and down like the ticking of a mechanical clock. He took another matched step. Whatever it was, it was hunting him! He considered his weapons, and discarded the idea. The knife would only irritate it, and he wasn't sure the pistol would kill it. He turned and ran. There was a howling sound, followed by a thumping sound as it leaped into pursuit.

He'd run only a few steps when someone came out of the brush ahead of him. He could see long white hair, a slim face, and he tripped as he saw the rifle the figure lifted to aim at him.

The crack of the weapon and the animal leaping on his back happened at the same instant. He was driven into the ground as the animal flipped over his back to land in a heap before his face. He could see the fury dying in those eyes. The back of head looked as if someone had opened the skull, put a small grenade in it, and stepped back smartly. He looked up past it.

The figure was a woman. She was wearing brown pantaloons and a rust colored shirt beneath a tight fitting vest. She looked at him for a long moment, then knelt, picking up the brass from her expended round. She expertly popped out the magazine, drew a fresh round from her belt, put it in the magazine, then reinserted it. The expended brass went into the slot where the fresh round had been. Now he could see that the vest had long rows of similar rounds. Then she sighed, walking over to kneel beside the body of the animal. She spoke softly, as if it were an old friend she had just killed as she stroked it's flank. On her neck was a mark, the same stylized dagger he had seen on the case.

Riyal got up on his knees. "I don't know how to thank you-"

"Don't thank me." She snapped, still stroking the dead animal.

"But-"

"This is not a matter for thanks." She looked up, and gray eyes glared at him. "She died because you don't have the brains of a flatworm." She stood, towering over him, ripping the rebreather off. Riyal almost choked on the smell. She held up the mask. "Anything with a functional brain would have avoided this area because of the stench. The Druhund leaves parts of her kills uneaten, scattering the body around where she intends to have her litter. The stench keeps scavengers and other predators away from her den while her young are still small.

"But you were too stupid to go around. Because of that, she died." She stood, lifting the comlink at her wrist, speaking rapidly. The only word he recognized was Nabistte, Mandalorian for someone from Naboo. "I have called the clan. There will be an aircar here in a few minutes."

Riyal stood, looking at the corpse. The guilt of causing an unnecessary death filled him. "Were would her den be?"

She looked at him as if he were speaking Huttese. "Why? Do you want to kill her kits as well?"

"What happens to her kits if she doesn't return?"

She gave him a look now that made him think he should be wearing a dunce cap. "She no longer feeds them, and they die of starvation." She explained as if to a child.

"That is my fault. I will gather the kits and feed them until they can take care of themselves."

"You will spend a year feeding her kits?"

"If I must."

She sighed, then pointed behind him. "Follow her tracks back until they disappear. When they do, mark the path, look for the nearest tree, and circle it the same distance away looking for another trail. Druhund never come directly from their den when they have kits. They leap into a tree then to the ground in another direction so the enemy can't merely follow her back to her kits. I will be here."

"You're not coming along?"

"No." She looked at him for a long moment. "If you would do this, we will need something else."

"What if the kits are half grown?"

"They will eat you, of course." She replied levelly. He had the idea that she didn't care either way. He shook his head, walking down the trail. Behind him, the woman spoke into her comlink again.

It didn't take long. The Druhund had only come perhaps ten meters from where she had broken trail, and he found the other path easily thanks to the instructions. He could hear a soft mewling sound, and found a hollow large enough for the animal to have slept with herself between the small forms further back. They were moving around blindly, their cries of hunger growing louder. He knelt, dumping out his pack. He took off his shirt, making a soft nest, and carefully lifted the four kits one by one into it. He had to do it one at a time. Though they were young each was larger than his two hands side by side. They squirmed, giving plaintive cries as he put the pack over both shoulders this time.

He reached the small clearing where he had been attacked, and looked at it with horror. The animal had been hoisted with a rope around it's neck, and the woman was carefully cutting it up with a vibroblade. Layers of plastic held the skin, the ribs cut first from the breast bone then cut in half and stacked to lay flat, and the legs chopped at the joints into manageable chunks. Except for the lungs and uterus, the entrails had been poured into a folding bucket.

"What are you doing?" He almost screamed.

She ignored his protest, walking over. She caught his shoulder, spinning him around to see his find. "From the look of them, there is perhaps only days before they will be able to eat meat as well as milk. We will need that-" she hooked a thumb at the remains, "-to feed them then."

He felt something tugging at his pony tail, and heard a chuckle. "It seems one of them likes you."

"Ha, ha." he replied. "We have not exchanged names. I am Riyal, Prince of Naboo."

"I am Taarna, of Clan Terakian." He turned to face her. If anything, her face was colder than before. "I knew you were of Naboo. We've been wondering what place your line wished to conquer next. After all, the planet is now unified, thanks to our blood."

"I don't understand."

"Four and a half centuries of the pact. 'To defend' was what we were supposed to do. Your forefathers, your 'kings' would push a neighbor until they attacked, and use us to conquer them. Land under your control now, watered with the blood of the thousands we once were, over and over.

"But with the planet under one ruler, we could not see a local enemy for you to face. So we waited for the next summons to end our long enslavement."

"Again, I don't understand."

"You don't need to Yet." She looked up. The aircar comes."

The vehicle circled, then came down in the clearing. The rear hatch opened, and two small children came down. The eldest, a girl of perhaps six glared at him, then spoke to Taarna. She replied, motioning to Riyal. "Kneel down so they can get two of the kits."

He did as he was told, and the girl walked around him, lifting a kit from the pack. The boy, around five, he estimated reached in and took out another. Riyal glanced over his shoulder. Both children had ecstatic looks on their faces as they cuddled the kits, scratching the young animals ears or stomach as they cooed to them. Taarna carried the remains of their mother up, strapping it down, then gave him another exasperated look.

"Come, we don't have time to watch the grass grow." Taarna walked over, taking out one of the remaining kits. "Here, your friend." She said, thrusting one into his arms before taking the other as she walked toward the flyer. He followed them aboard. There were four seats facing each other, and each had what looked like an emergency medical IV bag, but filled with a bluish liquid, the tubes hanging down beside the seats to a small thumb clip that stopped the liquid from flowing out. Taarna and the children sat, laying their burdens over their knees only long enough to strap in, and he followed suit. Once they had, each took the tubes hanging down, set the ends in the kit's mouth, and released the clip. The kits they held immediately had something more important to do, sucking the tubes avidly.

"Nerf milk." Taarna explained. "Are you going to feed her? Or merely tease her with the smell?" He took the tube as they had done, sticking the end into the kit's mouth and released the thumb clip. His burden began to suck, and he winced as the forepaws settled against his hand and began kneading, the needle claws burying themselves in his hand. Taarna shouted, and the ramp came up, the flyer lifting.

Terakian Compound: Concordia

Riyal had to admit the Druhund kit was cute, except for those needle claws. The ramp dropped before the bag was half empty, and she still sucked greedily. Taarna took her bag, linking it to a clip on her vest. She unbuckled, stood, then looked at the man. She sighed, removing the carabiner clip opposite the one she had used, and after a moment, removed a strip of leather from her vest, tying it around his neck, then linked the clip through it and the bag. When he stood the feeding was uninterrupted. He walked down the ramp, and looked at the buildings around the pad. Half of a dozen children as young as the two with him came running out, picked up the remains of the druhund, and hurried it inside. One older boy came to Riyal, and spoke to him.

"Shema is going to take the kit." Taarna told him. The boy professionally transferred the clip to his own body suit, then cradled the kit in his arms as he carried it in. "Come with me." Taarna told him.

He looked at the buildings. He wasn't sure, but it looked like it might hold two or three hundred people. But the compound was silent, almost eerily so. "Where are all the people?"

"Except for those out tending the fields, everyone is inside."

She took him through the door into the building following the others. There was a narrow hall leading back to a larger room. He had expected some kind of throne room, maybe a military command center. What he got was a large room that looked like a mess hall with two men bent over what was obviously a map of the compound they were in. The older man was pointing. "The Calor will be ready to harvest in two weeks. The cahval of course has three more months."

"We will take care of it for you." The younger man agreed. "When you return, the food will have been harvested."

"Yes." The older man said softly. "When we return." He looked up. "We're going to be preparing for a contract and have to depart tomorrow morning. If anything happens, you have the buildings."

The younger man laughed. "No contract is that lethal."

"There's always a first time." They clasped hands, and the younger man left. The elder rolled up the map. "Bring him, Taarna. Call the clan to witness."

"Leaders-"

"No, Taarna." He corrected gently. "All of them."

"Chu!" She nodded, and left.

"Come, Prince Riyal. I do not bite... often." Riyal walked toward him, and the man clasped his hand. "I am Takad, Clan father of the Terakian. We have been waiting for you world's next call upon us."

"After my grandfather had to put down the coup, he decided, as did my father, that your clan needed time to rebuild their numbers. I remember from the history classes than half of your clan died during that."

Takad looked at him for a long moment. "Yes, they did. As soon as we have taken oath, we can discuss this further."

There was a clattering of boots and dozens of people came running in. The one thing he noticed were their ages. Most were elderly, in their seventies to nineties like Takad. About ten were below 20 in age; Taarna falling into that group because she was perhaps nineteen. The rest, perhaps fifteen, were between those ages, but far fewer than would be normal according to demographics. There were more of the aged than anything else.

"The clan is gathered, clan-father." Taarna told him.

Riyal looked, doing a quick count. There were only about sixty of them. Where were the others?

"Man of Naboo? You come to call us to battle once again?"

"Clan-father, this is madness!" One man in his forties snarled. "We are to die for them yet again?"

Takad looked at him. "My son, we knew it would happen. Every warrior knows that death is his lot. It's all a matter of when. It is our time." He looked mildly at Riyal. "I have spoken the ritual words, Riyal of Naboo."

Riyal sighed. He opened his hand. The signet of his house was up in his palm, and he held up his hand so all could see it. "By the pact agreed, I call you. Our people are in danger, and need our strong sword arm. I, Riyal of the house of Megrim call for you to march."

"And by the change the Jettise negotiated when Sogan called us falsely?"

Riyal took hold of the signet, and twisted. The plate pulled free revealing a gold and green chip. He held out his hand. "The proof that I am the true messenger."

Takad walked over, lifting the chip; barely the size of the nail of his little finger, and put it in the slot on his pad. He touched a button, and typed in a code. The screen flashed. "Accepted." He set down the pad. "My clan brothers and sisters. The day is finally at hand. The last time we can be called."

The younger man glared at Riyal. "If this one hasn't stolen the ring, father. What of when this one's brother arrives-"

"I swear on my honor-"

The man spun, his finger aimed like a weapon. "Don't use that word! No man of your clan knows the meaning of the word! Your entire line would not know what honor was if I spread it like soft cheese on crackers and fed it to you!"

"Sammel, calm. This one is a bit different."

"Different?" Sammel looked him up and down. "He's from Naboo, of the house of Megrim. The same filth as all of his forebears."

"Different enough." Takad demurred. "He caused the death of a druhund-"

"And he is different?"

Takad looked at his son mildly. "Then he gathered the cubs that had been left for dead and brought them, vowing to raise them himself if need."

Sammel looked at him sneering. "An easy promise, since he will not be here to do it."

"I will take them home with me." Riyal replied softly.

Sammel shook his head as if it didn't matter anymore. "As you have taken oath, father, so have we all. We will prep the ships." He motioned and most of the older people and the children walked out along with all of the ones in the middle.

"Don't take his animosity too badly, Prince. He had hoped he would be dead before the call came; a wish we all share."

Riyal stared at him. "Everyone who meets me seems to think I am a plague carrier, could you explain that to me?"

"You mentioned history. Have you studied the history of the Pact?"

"Of course, I did." Riyal commented. "If I am to eventually rule, I have to understand how and why our government works."

"So tell me. Astound me with your acumen."

"Your clan swore an oath to my house to defend us from aggressors 450 years ago. The clan chief then swore that half of the clan would come at our call at any time if we were under attack. You have bravely fought our enemies fifty times during that period. The last time you were called was when my Grandfather's younger brother Sogan brought a duplicate of the ring, causing not half, but all of your clan to be called to our service."

"Like all history, self serving." Takad commented. "The Jedi say, everything depends upon your point of view. Would you hear it from our end?"

"Of course."

"Four hundred fifty years ago, we had been hired by Megrim to put down a small rebellion. Your ancestor had dreams of uniting the planet under his rule, but his nation was small and could ill afford an army for such a long conflict. Also he wasn't foolish enough to think it would be within his lifetime, so he decided upon a plan. After our victory in that conflict, he invited our clan leaders and their sons to a banquet.

"Megrim's son Rothgar was instructed to goad one of our young men into a fight, and he chose the clan father's son Dayal. He did as instructed, assuring that Dayal threw the first punch. They were separated. Our people have always tried to avoid breaking local laws, but Dayal was charged with striking a member of the royal family, punishable by death by beheading. Our clan leader tried to negotiate, but Megrim was adamant; 'who raises his hand against my family threatens me'."

Takad walked to a tea pot, holding it up in mute offering. He poured tea for them both, then walked over, setting it down as he sat across from Riyal. "Our clan-father offered to come at need. Megrim agreed to commute the sentence to exile provided the clan swore a pact to come at his call. Our clan-father was wise enough to assure that we could only be called if you were attacked or to be attacked, but Megrim only agreed if we did so for 'as long as my line exists, or your clan lives or until released'.

"The clan leader loved his son, yet if he had known what would happen to us, he would have killed the boy himself. Less than six months later, Megrim's largest neighbor attacked him. Of course we did not know then that he had goaded them by taking villages and incorporating them into his country until shots were fired and he had men dead. When we arrived half of your nation had been occupied and we had to go for their capital to defeat them. Hundreds of our clan died, and thousands of theirs, but we won handily.

And the instant we had, when we had taken their politicians into custody along with the leaders of their military, your father sent his men to take over, and shooed us on our way. And what did your 'history' say about that war?"

Riyal considered. "That after due process was observed, all of those who had orchestrated that heinous attack were executed."

Takad chuckled sourly. " 'Those who had orchestrated'. If nothing else, your line does have a grasp of how to make a bitter truth a sweet lie. The truth was that all members of their military down to the common soldier were executed. Their leaders both military and civil were also eliminated; down to the youngest child of their families. We may have killed thousand, but you family's 'police' killed hundreds of thousands. At least our victims had a chance to fight back.

"Then of course the next war. Your history probably records that 'terrorists' had fled across the border into the next largest neighbor, that the government there refused to turn them over, and your line swore they would hunt them where ever they went. The nation treated in such a manner had to fight back, again, starting a war you pushed."

That was almost exactly how history had worded it. He nodded mutely. "By this time we realized what was happening; that your line was bent on conquering the entire planet with our arms and our blood. But our clans are used to poorly worded contracts. That war cost us almost a thousand more; cost those valiant people tens of thousands before they finally surrendered. Cost them hundreds of thousands more when your 'police' hunted down any who might think of fighting back.

"Attempts to renegotiate the pact were rebuffed. Why do you think your ancestor stated 'as long as my line exists, or your clan lives or until released'? As long as your line could show an actual attack by a neighbor, or prove that they had threatened you, we could not claim otherwise in a contract court. We were bound by our honor to fight for you. If we refused, we would be legally declared foresworn.

"We could not even argue against his extermination of all opposition. 'Who raises his hand against my family threatens me', remember? They acted in opposition of your ancestor's 'just claims' and your law also enshrines the idea that any member of the family of a traitor shares their guilt. We tried using our own laws, but they were also rebuffed. We take brave women as war brides, we adopt children of brave enemy warriors to raise.

"But we were told that if we took them, those who did would also be executed. Under our own laws that can be done by the contract partner unless it is negotiated first. Fifty of our people who used our laws to do so were executed 'legally' by you courts. So the wars came, our people died. Many went into honor death, killing themselves rather than continuing. Others merely hoped that some lucky man would kill the royal family and free us that way."

Takad drained his cup, then walked over, taking down a dusty bottle. "Tihaar. Bottled the year of my birth. The year of Infamy. Something to drink when having bitter thoughts." He took down two thimble sized glasses, poured for himself, then for Riyal. "Oya Manda!" He knocked back the drink, then watched until Riyal followed suit. The boy gasped, coughing. "It is an acquired taste." He poured anew.

"Then, with no more enemies upon Naboo, Sogan became greedy. His father was old, and his brother Seagrim would take the throne. So Sogan had a duplicate of the ring made, and came to Manda'lor where we still lived. He led half of our clan, merely 200 to 'take back' his throne.

"Of course his duplicity was discovered, and Seagrim came bearing the true ring less than a week later. When asked by our clan-father how we could tell which was the truth? His reply? 'I swear on my honor that my brother is false, that he wants my father dead, and that he will take the throne and his crown over the bodies of my own sons'. Oddly enough, the same words of his brother the usurper." He smiled sadly at Riyal's wince. "Yes. That is why we do not take the words of your line when speaking of honor as truth.

"The 'coup' lasted mere days; the amount of time it took for us to board ship and come to Naboo. From orbit we told our brothers what had happened, and the fighting stopped as they handed their weapons to the police. By then your great-grandfather was already dead, and most of your house. Only Sogan's children and his concubines still lived. Your grandfather had them executed. Then he turned to our clan-father and demanded the lives of every one of our people who had come at Sogan's call. He declared them foresworn.

"Our clan-father refused. There was no provision for such duplicity. Seagrim threatened to declare our entire clan foresworn, 'Who raises a hand against me raises it against my house'. As often as your ancestors have used the phrase, it should be your house motto. So our people in their hands killed themselves, going into honor death rather than let your ancestor destroy our honor. When Seagrim tried to merely send us on our way, our clan-father refused. He argued before the throne that if it had happened once, it could happen again, and that he was not willing to slaughter half of what remained every time you family had a squabble. When Seargim refused and began the words of dismissal, that brave man, in front of his entire court, and a witness cut his own throat on the steps to the throne."

"I drink to your father's honor." Riyal knocked back the second shot.

"That clan-father was not my father." Takad leaned on the table. "My father had already ordered his followers in the hands of your police to go into death with honor. That man was my uncle.

"There was a witness as I said. A Jedi who had come to Naboo on other business. You see, we had already filed protests in the contract court here, and when we won them and were technically free, Seagrim's great grandfather had filed counter suit in the Republic court which held the pact valid until it decided. They will be heard any day now."

Riyal shook his head wearily. The Republic's courts had backlogs spanning decades. But Takad claimed one over a century long!

"Oh it is true. After all when a Senator wants his case heard, it can be moved up, and if the Senator of Naboo offers to let another case be heard first, why any senator is happy for that chance. Anyway, the Jedi suggested that since there was proof of duplicity in your line's dealing with us, that he would program a chip to hold the Pact, one that with the help of some of the best programmers in the galaxy assisted by the Force could not be duplicated. Seagrim agreed, provided that from that day, our people were not allowed honor death. There is precedent for that; Before the Jedi Civil war of two millennia ago, the Jedi Revan denied our entire race that when their honor was stripped from them for a time.

"So we were patted on the head like loyal hounds, and shooed back to our kennels; no doubt because he believed we would run home, and go at it like Gizka. He might not be able to call us again, but his son, or perhaps you could call upon a clan rebuilt. But we were not so willing.

"When we returned home, our clan-father moved us here, to Concordia. Few of our people live here, not since the Mandalorian wars. Only outcasts, and those who believe they should be live here. The clan council and the Manda'lor were informed why we had taken this step to divorce ourselves from our own race. Then, as a clan, we decided that we would not have more children. That we would die because of the passage of time if it was the only way to free us.

"While your 'history' no doubt covers this last eighty odd years as a golden age of peace, we of the Mando'a know better. Attempts by Seagrim and your father to hire other clans of our people have been rebuffed. They would not act as his bodyguard, nor serve as soldiers. You have had peace because the Mando'a themselves will not serve such a line of monsters again. After all, they have lost most of a clan to them."

"But you must have had children! Sammel is your own son!"

"Yes, but that was when we were going to other clans, and giving up our parental rights to that clan. Women would marry into the other clan rather than stay, and no, I will not tell you how many. Some clans accepted, but sometimes the mothers would refuse to stay with their clan. Also, as I said, we adopt children, for our races loves them. Over half of them you saw today had become family in that manner. Taarna is the last of the Terakian born." He touched a button on his comlink, and Taarna seemed to appear from the shadows. "At dawn tomorrow, the Terakian will board our ships. We will go into our last battle and die. It will end then."

"And how many will come? How many hundreds will you bring?" Riyal asked.

Takad looked at him, and for a moment, he gave wry grin. "You do not understand. I told Taarna to gather all of our people. You saw them when I took oath."

Riyal stared at him in dawning horror. "There were barely sixty of you!" Takad nodded. "What will you do with so few?"

"Do?" Takad gave him the gentle smile again. "We will die, and finally be at peace."


	3. Concordia: Preparatation

Terakian Compound: Concordia

"Your quarters are down here, Prince." Taarna motioned. She still carried her rifle, now slung. He followed her down another hall, then down a flight of stairs. As they left the stairwell the boy Shema came the other way. While Riyal considered him a child, he knew that by Mandalorian standards, he had been a man since the age of thirteen, which meant for the last three years or so. The young man looked at him coolly, then at Taarna.

"I will be in the armory starting on the weapons we will be leaving. Join me?"

"As soon as I am done here." Taarna replied.

"What, an adult male of Naboo needs his hand held?"

Riyal hissed. "No. Your clan-father thought it would help if I knew where I was sleeping."

Those cold brown eyes looked at him, then up and down as if cataloging him. "Of course, the Naboo always need babysitters."

"Listen, child." Riyal snapped. "If you want to make it a confrontation, this 'Autisse' is ready for it."

The boy smiled, if you call baring his teeth a smile. "Ah, the little Prince has teeth! I think you need some... personal attention."

"All I have to say is, bring it."

"Oh, I shall." Shema replied. He motioned behind him. "Your quarters are the ones where you can hear children laughing. There is no other place in our compound where that is true." He pushed between them, taking the steps at a fast jog.

Taarna looked up the steps pensively. "That could have gone worse."

"How?"

She turned, looking at Riyal. "Among the Mando'a, calling a proven warrior 'child' would cause a duel. Of course killing or crippling you within minutes of us taking oath might be seen as... provocative."

Shema had been right. Behind one door there were gales of childish laughter, and when they opened it, the three children, two girls and one boy looked up before returning to their play. The four kits lay on the bed, scattered about as they followed strips of fur leather or feathers the children held. Riyal couldn't be sure, but the laughter seemed to goad the young Druhund to chase even harder.

Except for one. That one ignored the tools the children used to entice them. Merely lifting it's head and whining plaintively.

"What's wrong with this one?" Riyal asked. He reached out, and the kit froze, then humped itself around as if sensing his hand. It raised it's head, giving a querulous grumble, then lifted it's nose to smell. Riyal started to pull back, but Taarna stopped him. Her grip strong enough to keep him from moving.

"She is bonding." Taarna explained, then she drove his hand down as if he were caught in an hydraulic press, forcing his hand closer. She stopped bare millimeters from the seeking animal, who became even more excited. The kit's breath pushed against his fingers, then flowed inward as the kit inhaled. The grumbling died, then it humped itself upward on it's haunches, forepaws coming up to capture two of his fingers. The claws did not hook into him, rather it held them delicately as it rubbed it's head against them like a cat marking it's territory.

Taarna released his wrist, but he didn't move away. The kit almost purred in the same clock like manner of her mother, then began licking his fingers.

"I don't understand." Riyal whispered.

"Druhund can see, but that is not their primary sense. They hunt and bond by scent, and this one recognizes your scent as of home. That is why the children are using animal scents to lead the others around." As she said this the girl that had been on the flyer was guiding her charge using a strip of leather toward his hand. Before he could protest she lifted it up to run over his hand so that the following kit lifted to smell him instead. It froze as if it had never smelled that scent before, then like his sister he humped upward until his blindly seeking paws found the edge of Riyal's hand. It keened in delight, holding his hand as it gently gnawed on his wrist.

Before he could protest the others had been led to him. Soon he had one holding his thumb to lick, the other gently gnawing on the web of his hand between thumb and fingers.

The girl that had led the second one to him asked Taarna something. "Tyra asks if they can play with your kits when you are not with them."

"Of course they may. Any of the children may." When Taarna translated, the children almost leaped for joy.

"You have brightened their last days. For that I thank you."

"What do you mean?" He realized that everyone he'd met expected to die very soon. "Surely you will not take children into battle with you!"

She gave him that same look her clan-father had. "We cannot leave them here. When the battle is done, and all of us are dead, your father will know that some few remain. Or perhaps you will tell a child of yours. How long will it be, oh Prince, before your own grandchild or great grandchild calls them forth again?" She shook her head in disgust. "We will leave no hostages to fortune behind. When the clan dies, it will be all of us who march into death with it."

She took out a pad, bringing up a map,handing it to him. "Shema and I with a few others will be in the armory here." She touched the map. "There are many weapons that must be prepared for storage so that when we are gone, others can still use them. Our own weapons in case we fight upon the planet itself will also be prepared by those who would use them. The others are preparing our Assault shuttles for the voyage. Once our preparations are complete, we will rest, and in the morning all will meet one last time to bid farewell to each other, then we will launch."

"And what am I to do during all of this?"

"The last time one of your line came, he spent the time whining that we were too slow. Times before that it varied. Cosrein, the fifth of your line actually inspected our work, though he admitted he had no clue as to what we were doing, and didn't care to learn." She smiled at his look. "All that we see, that our ancestors see, is recorded on our Soochir." She pulled a chain around her neck, showing him a crystal in a metal matrix. "We have records of everything that was done by those of your line sent back to the Pact itself. When we die, the Soochir of the dead are collected, and all is recorded on the great Soochir of the clan itself."

"Why did you clan father say I was different?"

"I had told him of the druhund." She replied. "If you look at that, and think of what your line has done to conquer Naboo, you can see yourself like them, and unlike them. You walked into the area around her lair, forcing her to confront you. When she came you backed away; a wise move for they know our weapons. If you had drawn your blade or pistol she would have attacked immediately."

"But she followed!"

"You were still close enough to her young to be a threat. If you had backed away just a few more steps, you would have been close enough for me to warn you to keep backing as you were. After a time she would have stopped pacing you. She would have stopped and merely watched to make sure you would not return. But you ran.

"The mind of an animal is simple; to a druhund you are nothing to worry about, a threat, or prey. If you are not a danger, she ignores you as she did me when I passed by her lair outside of the zone. If you are a threat, she confronts you. But to a druhund, only prey runs away. When you ran, you became something she could hunt and kill, for nothing else would flee. You ran, she hunted, and I killed her. In this, you were like all of your line, pushing the limits of those you confront, expecting us to fight for you."

She gave him time to understand the analogy. "But then you became different from those of your line. When I explained why she had died, your first thought was not that you were safe, but what would happen to her kits. I assumed then that you would be like all the others; that you went to kill them. I thought when you asked about how old they were, that you would use it as an excuse, for if they were merely a few days older than they are, they might have attacked you if they were hungry. You would have killed them easily when they made their clumsy attacks, but you could sleep well assured that no enemy stood behind you.

"Yet you brought them out as gently as a mother druhund moving her kits somewhere safe. You showed compassion instead of expedience. That is something I did not anticipate, and neither did the clan-father. That is why he freely admitted to you our state, and that whatever else comes of it, that this will be our final battle for your line. He gave you the trust we would extend to any honorable client."

Riyal considered. "If you will excuse me?" He nodded, and she left.

"Pretty." He looked at Tyra, who repeated the word.

"You speak Basic?"

She shrugged. "I speak some. Not well. Next year-" She stopped. "Next year will not be. I will learn no more in short time. Will die together with my sister Suli and clan brother Moro." Her fingers ran delicately over the druhund before her, and the animal arched into her hand. "But will die happy."

"I will be back." She nodded absently, all of her focus was on the new life before her.

As he walked the compound, he felt even more alone. Except for the children and Taarna, the others ignored him as unimportant. Everyone else was busy. In the hangar fifteen assault shuttles were opened for repair and fine tuning, and about forty of the clan were there, working on them.

_They see me as just another of my family_. He thought. _An uncaring paymaster who whined because they bring so few when we called. That will watch them die, and whine again that there are no more to send out the next time_.

He found himself at the ramp of one of the shuttles. Unlike most races, the Mandalorians didn't use snub fighters, except in defense of a specific system; after all, until they made a hyperdrive motivator small enough to take one to another system they were limited, requiring a mother ship to transport them. Their attack shuttles however were over four times the size of a fighter, and could travel to another system. They were more like the blast-boats of other societies. Large enough to leap from system to system, armed well enough and maneuverable enough to face fighters on almost equal terms, and capable of carrying perhaps fifty troops to land in a combat environment. There was a clanging, then a spate of Mandalorian that sounded like cursing.

He walked up the ramp. Sammel was laying beneath the command console, cursing, and feeling with his hand for the tool box just out of his reach. Then he squirmed out. He saw Riyal, snorted in disgust, then took a tool from the box. "What do you want."

"I wish to learn."

"Learn what?"

"How to repair one of these shuttles."

Sammel glared at him. "On your world it is simple. You point at a mechanic, tell him 'fix it' and walk away with a job well done."

Riyal smiled. In fact until today, that is what he might have done. "But if I did not have a mechanic, what would I do?"

"Probably curse it and kick it a few times."

Riyal chuckled. "And that would work?"

Sammel looked at him as if he expected Riyal was teasing him. "Sometimes. The cursing at least vents frustration."

"So teach me."

Sammel's look spoke volumes of what he consider Riyal competent to accomplish. "I began working on shuttles before you were born. We do not have time to teach you how to fix something like this."

"Ah." Riyal walked over, sitting on the decksole beside the toolbox. "But I think I am competent enough to pass the tools you need as you work. And if it does not interfere with what you do, you can explain what you are doing, and why."

Sammel snorted. "The targeting system is refusing to lock onto target. I have a diagnostic running-" he pointed up at the small flat screen to the right of the command pilot's seat. There was a red dot, and a targeting caret on it, but the caret was moving around, and passed over the dot refusing to lock on. "-so I must tinker, look at the screen, and if it continues to fail, try something else."

"Then I will watch the screen, pass tools, and when it decides to work, tell you."

Sammel growled, and slid back under the console. There was the clink of metal, then he asked. "Now?"

"The caret stopped on the red dot, but moved on."

"Hand me the number seven circuit tester." Riyal searched, found the tool, and exchanged it for the one in the seeking hand. They worked companionably for a time until the recalcitrant system locked on the target with a bleeping sound, turning red when it did. But the range was incorrect according to Sammel. After another time it finally locked on and gave him the range he expected.

"What else?" Riyal asked as Sammel crawled back out and began replacing the panels.

"First we must flight test her. Then we must load the missiles and tibanna tanks for the plama cannon. But that takes skills you do not have, with no time to learn them."

"But the missiles or tanks are moved with lifters, right?" Sammel nodded. "I do not think it would take that long to learn how to drive one."

For the first time he saw something other than contempt in that gaze. "No, even a child of six can drive a lifter."

"Then I try to be considered a competent six year old if you will but show me how. After the flight test."

Sammel gave him a look of grudging respect. "Man the co-pilot's seat."

Riyal took the seat. After a moment's fumbling Sammel made sure he was strapped in properly. The Mando'a sat in the pilot's seat, bringing up the engines. The thrum shook his bones, and Sammel grinned. "Do you have problems with motion sickness?" He asked mildly.

"No-" Riyal was slammed back in the seat as the assault shuttle lifted, spun, then leaped into flight. He wanted to scream as the shuttle shot from the hanger, climbing like a homesick angel. The ship rolled four times then steadied as it still climbed.

"A ship must be responsive." Sammel said coolly. The shuttle climbed, then as it's speed fell off, twisted the controls. For an instant, she continued climbing but backwards, now facing the moon so far below. Sammel was bringing up the weapons panel as the climb halted, then the ship stooped like a hawk. Her engines drove her downward, and missiles leaped out, followed by the bellow of the blaster cannon. A segment of the moon below them lifted upwards under the fire.

"Good." Sammel purred, dropping to run less than 200 meters from the ground. Riyal had only a moment to react before he was slammed into the restraints. The shuttle stopped less than a kilometer from the landing field, balanced on her thrusters. Then she moved at a sedate pace. "What have you to say, Prince?"

Riyal vented a sigh. "Again?"

Sammel laughed. "You'll do."

For the next hours he fetched tools, brought water for the workers, drove the lifter to deliver pallets of missiles and tanks for the plasma cannon. Four times he rode a shuttle up on her flight test, and he found it as exhilarating as that first.

The third time, Keeri one of the older clan members, who was piloting went into a circling climb. "Copilot's craft."

"What?" Riyal stared at him.

Keeri motioned toward the controls in front of Riyal. "You have piloted before. You know that you are now in command."

Riyal shrugged, taking the yoke. Keeri lifted his hands. "We need to test both missiles and guns. Use the caret to target, fire the missiles at 6,000 meters or more, the guns at 3,000 or more. One thing." He looked at the younger man. "Crashing into the moon will be a win, if you land on the target. Otherwise it is not to be done. Understood?"

"Crashing on the target is a win?"

"For the clan, yes. For yourself?" Keeri waggled his hand up and down.

"And if I kill us during the flight test?"

"That is a dead loss. It means we have to preflight another." Keeri shrugged. "Of course we will not be doing that." He motioned. "Remember, we expect our ships to be lively."

Riyal turned, and the ship literally swapped ends. He had felt the thrusters, the vernier rockets and the repulserlifts all kicking in as he moved the stick. He saw what they meant; they had rigged every maneuvering system together, so that the shuttle maneuvered like a fighter! He moved the yoke more gently, and the ship eased into the new turn. On his HUD the attack scanner came up, and he could see the target moving back toward the center of the screen.

"The caret-"

"On an attack run, we do not have gunner and pilot, only the man at the controls." Keeri commented.

Riyal cursed under his breath. The controls were standard for a human, and he tapped the lock button as the caret passed the target now at 5800 meters, but it slid across. He maneuvered back, this time locking it at less than 5,000 meters. He dived, passing 4,000 meters before hitting the firing trigger. Two missiles dropped away, targeting the repeater below. He switched to guns as the first missile slammed into the target, his guns firing as they shot passed 3,000 meters. He pulled back on the yoke, the surface of the moon rushing up at them, and found them running less than 50 meters from the surface.

He was gasping, mouth open, teeth clenched as the Concord Moon raced past below. "How did I do?" He gasped in both terror and exhilaration.

"It could have been better, Prince." Keeri replied calmly. "Now if you can put us on the deck without killing us..."

Riyal laughed. "I will try."

After a time, the tension eased. When Keeri called him a stupid d'kut it was not because of who he was, rather that he had almost clipped the wing of the shuttle they were loading, followed by an expletive laden discourse on coming in from _this_ angle to clear the wing, and adjust the load _here_ so that they could be moved into final position by hand.

When they broke for dinner, they were being polite to him. Not friendly as yet, but they were treating him like someone with a functioning brain.

The dining hall was slowly filling when he arrived after washing up. There was a huge cauldron of some kind of stew, and a barrel of the black beer they favored. Beside the barrel were two more with taps, one much smaller than the other. The clan members were serving up bowls of the stew, taking sliced bread from trays beside it, and either filling the huge tankards (Called buckets, as were their helmets) with either beer or a reddish wine from the larger barrel.

"Well, get your food." Shema said from behind him. "Unless or course you expect us to serve you hand and foot." He waved airily. "Oh, I am so sorry, I am afraid all the servants are on vacation, so you will just have to muddle along."

"What is this?" Riyal asked, motioning toward the pot.

"_Merdai_." Shema answered. "It is a dish made to show our strength, and our ability to live where others would refuse to live. It is what we can catch, and what we can find, so it is never the same twice."

"Ah." Riyal took a bowl, filling it. "I have heard of it, but never tasted it. What is it I have heard? 'Merdai is like the Mando'a. What you make of it'?"

Shema smiled sourly at him. "At least you have learned something of those you use like tissue paper. Most of those sent by your line merely called us Mandalorians, as if what an Autisse calls us matters. You have a choice of Gal or Verdyc to drink with it."

"I know Gal is beer, and I will try it. But what is Verdyc?"

"Mando'a blood wine." Shema took a tankard, and filled it with the red wine. "For after we have the hard Verdyc thrice distilled, or tihaar."

"I will try the hard Verdyc afterward." He took his bowl, bread and beer to a table. Shema followed like the druhund had earlier.

"What, tihaar is too strong for you weak Autisse palate?"

Riyal noticed that the small conversations about them were dying out as if everyone hung on his words. He looked into the mocking eyes across from him, and realized that as they had accused his line, Shema was goading him. His words of challenge earlier must have stung more than he realized. But he could not merely apologize; that would be taken for weakness. But he knew the Mando'a respected strength, especially in the 'outlanders' which is what Autisse meant in their tongue.

"I was merely surprised when it was offered as a drink. I would have thought from the smell and the burn that it was used to strip paint from hulls. Your clan-father told me it is an acquired taste. I will try it again, because I find I rather liked it. But it would not be fair to the Gal and the Verdyc, both hard and soft, to slight them."

He lifted a spoon of the Merdai, and chewed it contemplatively. "An odd flavor, gamey. It must be the meat used. But I had been told that Merdai could also be used to strip paint, and this is as mild as any stew I have ever eaten."

Shema pointed at the spices between them, taking a bottle of reddish liquid and dashed in on his own. "I thank you for the warning. I did not know the cooks were making it weak enough for a baby."

Riyal watched the young man's face as he shoveled in some of the stew. Sweat started from his forehead, but except for that, nothing changed beyond his challenging look. Whatever was in that bottle must be very strong. He took it, then a spoonful of the stew. He dropped a single drop on the stew in the spoon, then ate it.

He felt as if he had taken a coal from a fire and tossed it into his mouth. He wanted to choke, to gag, to spit it out, to chug the beer before him in desperate need of cooling his burning mouth. Instead he chewed, as if testing a new cook, then picked up his beer and drank a measured sip. "Ah, that is what I thought Merdai was like. Thank you for teaching me."

Taarna came in, got her own food, and sat beside him. She took a spoon of stew, shook her head, and took a shaker of a black powder, spreading it on the stew, then stirring it in before taking another bite.

"What is that?" Riyal asked.

"Pipalli. But it is a bit strong for those who are not Mando'a."

Riyal took another spoon, dusted it with the powder, and fed it into his mouth. After the sauce this was almost bland, though it was hot. He slid the bottle of sauce toward her, and she looked at it, then at Shema. "That is ground pipalli steeped in tihaar. Only fools and Shema eat it all the time."

"Steeped in Tihaar? That explains why I like the taste." He poured a larger dollop onto the stew, stirred well, and went back to eating as if nothing had happened. Taarna merely shook her head.

Shema picked up his Verdyc, taking his own measured sip. "I see that with you, I must work harder." There was a ripple of laughter, and the conversations that had died began again.

Tyra came running in, paced by the other girl that had been playing with the kits, followed by the boy, a basket hanging from their hands. They saw Riyal, and came over to him. As they set down the basket, Riyal was inundated in the hungry whine of the kits. The children moved the kits onto the table, where they immediately made a beeline for Riyal. He sighed, putting out his hand, and the kits caught it, mewling in hunger as they pawed at him.

"I need some milk." He sighed. The children ran into the kitchen, and came back with bowls they then filled with milk. They set them down, guiding kits to them, where they began lapping it up eagerly.

"When will they begin eating meat?"

"We can try it now." Taarna got a fresh bowl of stew, then plucked out chunks of meat, teasing the meat apart with her knife until it was a mass of loose fibers. She picked up some between two fingers, and held them up above one of them. It looked up, and the mewling took on a deeper tone. It lunged upward, sucking the fibers from her fingers, then looked up again, whining. Riyal chuckled, picking up some fibers, and held them over the head of the kit that had bonded first. She sat up, daintily sucking the meat from his grip, then looked around.

"Ah, so you are patient?" Riyal fed her more. Again she waited until he delivered more.

"Tyra! Suli!" A woman came in, and began berating the two girls. Both looked sheepish.

Taarna said something that stopped the woman in her tracks. She looked at the girl, then at Riyal. "My girls, they have been helping you with the druhunds?" He nodded. She looked at them, then sighed, saying something softly. "But they must prepare their weapons for tomorrow, so you will be seeing to them alone for a time." She sighed, kneeling to hug the girls, then walked back out. They came back over as if they expected him to shun them. But he slid a kit to each.

There was much to do, but Riyal wanted to think. He carried the kits back down to his quarters when they had been fed to repletion, and walked out into the evening. The sun had not yet set, and he looked at the sky. There were streaks of red in it now, and he saw something. He shaded his eyes, watching the form coming closer, then gasped in amazement.

It was a bird, but like none he had ever seen. It had not a pair of wings, but two pair, one huge span in the front, but halfway back there was a second smaller pair that was linked in some way to the front. Where the front pair drove it upward, the aft pair seemed to act more as control surfaces, directing its flight, making it's turn as swift and agile as a snub fighter.

"So beautiful." Taarna was standing there beside him, watching the bird as he did. "They are called Terak; the symbol of our clan. You cannot tell it from here, but they are very large; large enough that they can pluck a full grown man from the ground to eat." She laughed. "In mating season, we restrict smaller air cars from flying."

"Why?"

"Because they are brave and glorious in flight, but not too bright. Many a time a warrior would call for a pick up after a stupid male decided they were something to mate with." He pictured it, and they laughed together.

She became somber again. "Long ago, our first clan-father came here. It was after what your people call the Mandalorian wars, when our honor had been stripped from us, and we were denied honor death. No one knows what name he had before that. He came here, alone, hoping to meet something that would kill him, and free him from such a life. He watched the Terak, and in his warrior heart he saw what we did not yet realize. Honor is as much a part of us as breath. We cannot live without it. But it is not something that can be taken away by fiat, any more than you can decree that a man can no longer breathe and expect him to hold his breath.

"He gathered others who felt the same way from all of the clans, and when Canderous Ordo, who became Manda'lor years later came home, he found a few hundred here, already living the life Revan had decreed when she gave him the helm and declared him Manda'lor.

"Terak was one of the first to come, asking our new Manda'lor to judge his thoughts and words. So it was that Manda'lor, later called Redeemer of Honor agreed, and raised Terak up not as merely a man, but as leader of a new clan, named the Terakian in his honor. And when we go into battle, that line ends. Two thousand years of past glory swept away by the glory of what we will do in the name of our honor."

"It is madness. All you can do is die, even if you succeed. Why?"

She turned to look at him. "Remember what I said about the Terak?" She waved toward that now vanished bird. "Brave and glorious, but not too bright. With your pardon, I must prepare my weapon for battle."

"May I come?"

She looked at him considering. "I do not know how welcome you will be. Our people see you as the end of our enslavement, but seeing the headsman's ax waiting for you is not a joy, even to us."

They walked around the main building to a firing range. A number of the clan were gathered, seated at tables as they dismantled and cleaned weapons. Unlike the rifle she carried, a number of them were blasters, most old enough that he had seen them in books of wars a century or more gone. Some looked up, but merely cataloged that he was there. They fired patiently, others using wide angle scopes to mark their fire. They would fire, adjust and fire again, stopping only when they were satisfied.

The children as he judged them were there. Their weapons were blasters rather than projectile weapons the elders were using. Their scores on the range were worthy of any of the elders. Tyra scored well enough that Riyal cheered. The girl looked at him, bowed to his praise, then carried her weapon over to clean.

There was a sound like an artillery piece firing, and he turned that way. Half a dozen of the men and women were using the larger heavy assault blasters that could take out a vehicle. Shema looked up, turned back, and another bolt ripped down range. "Coming to see how a warrior would do it?"

"If one would deign to teach me." Riyal replied. "I see it cannot be fired effectively from the prone position."

Shema looked at him. "And from your many years of military experience you deduced this?"

"No. Merely that with the support brace where it is-" he pointed at the grip that thrust out on the left side of the barrel, "-it would be difficult to maneuver from side to side."

"That brace is adjustable for right or left hand." Shema lifted his thumb to a stud closer to the barrel, and the grip arched under the barrel, then back into position.

"Is there one of these I can test fire?"

"And who will clean it?" Shema asked sarcastically.

"I was told that a child of six could drive a load lifter in the hanger. How old would a child need to be to learn how to fire and clean this?" He motioned toward the ungainly weapon.

Shema shook his head. "A child of perhaps seven could clean it, but it takes a man to fire it. The weapons weighs fifteen kilos, and is directed by the arm, as it fits to your elbow." He moved his arm, and the weapon lifted and pointed as he flexed his right arm. "To use it all day takes a real man."

"Then if someone will fetch one for me, I will try to prove I am a fully grown man."

- Shema grinned. "Here then, man of Naboo. Use mine." He shifted his hand from the grip to another one made for carrying, sliding the weapon from his arm, holding it at arm's length in offering. Riyal came forward, reaching out, and grasping firmly as Shema let go. He had anticipated that the young man lied, so he was not surprised as it dragged his hand down before he caught the weight.

"Fifteen kilos? I would say closer to 20." He shifted his grip to his right hand, sliding his left arm into the socket at the rear. He felt a T shaped grip with a thumb stud, which he avoided. "I would assume that you have safed the weapon?"

"There is no safety." Shema replied. "If you press the stud, it will fire. But if your hand is not within the sleeve holding the grip, it would not fire if dropped a hundred kilometers onto rock."

Riyal reached over, hard with such a weight, and shifted the support grip to a left handed firing position. Then he took a stance not unlike the one Shema had been in. The targets were a long way away, perhaps nine hundred meters. There were both vehicle and man sized targets, but at that range only the vehicles could clearly be seen. He touched the stud, and a bolt ripped downrange, cleanly missing anything important. He was almost blinded by the flash.

"Ah, they know you're here now!" Shema chortled. "Perhaps I should stand before you? Where it is safe?"

Riyal grimaced, then held the weapon, concentrating down the heavy barrel, the weight pulling him forward, which he corrected. For a long moment he merely stood, then a second bolt flew down range. It clipped the edge of a vehicle target.

"Oh! You singed their whiskers with that one!"

Before Riyal could fire again, Taarna was beside him. She slipped a headset like the one Shema wore onto his head. "The weapon will post a reticule over your eye; which one depending on your grip. It also darkens automatically when the stud is depressed, so you do not go blind from the flashes." She gave Shema a cool look. "As a competent instructor would know to tell you."

"Thank you." Riyal aimed. As his hand tightened on the side grip a pair of lines sprang into his vision over his left eye, and to the side he could see the range, 915 meters. He found that broad movements of his arm cause the sight to leap more than a vehicle's length to either side, so he moved only slightly. He found a target, a vehicle, and pressed the stud gently. The target fell with a clang that was heard moments later. Then he shifted incrementally to a man sized target, range 904 meters, and again stroked the trigger. This one merely exploded from the heat of the round.

He paused, then stripped the headset off. "I like it!" He turned to Shema, and took the carrying grip as he pulled the weapon free. "I think I am not yet man enough to use it all day. I would need to build up my arms for it. When you are done firing it in to your satisfaction, let me know. I have yet to learn how to clean it. But wait." He reinserted his arm, then moved the support grip to beneath the barrel. "I see it can be fired from the prone after all. But the man using it would have to move his upper body to sight it properly." Shema took the weapon with a considering look on his face. Then he turned back to his duty.


	4. Bonding andf flight to battle

Terakian Compound: Concordia, Bonding

Finally every weapon and ship was tested and tuned, their armor ready. The shuttles were prepped ready to launch, everything that needed doing was done. The tired clansmen gathered in the mess hall, where Takad stood, waiting. The younger ones went about, handing out thimbles of tihaar, or fluted glasses of hard Verdyc, taking glasses of soft for themselves before giving their clan-father their attention.

"Usually, we would have the circle at this time, where those of us that have felt the fury of battle tell you who have not what we saw and did. But tonight there will be no circle." He scanned their faces. "Tonight we will merely toast the death of our clan, and those who follow on will read from our Soochir the glory of that end." He took a thimble of tihaar, holding it up. "Clan Terakian, Death or Glory!"

"Death or Glory!" They roared back. Riyal shot the tihaar in his own glass back. In that moment, when they had shouted, he had suddenly seen what it must have been like before his Line had interfered. The sixty had become thousands, and their warcry had shattered the night before they left to face their foe. He took another thimble of the potent liquor, shooting it back as well as the clansmen trickled from the room.

He stood, walking over to where Takad had taken a glass of Verdyc instead. "What of the chip?"

Takad looked at him coolly. "When we are all dead, it will be worthless."

"Useless perhaps, but not worthless. My own world owes your people so much, and have taken far too much from you. I would ask that you give it to me. To me it is worth more than my entire planet."

"Takad sighed. "And if we do not all die? Shall I place the lives of those few in your hands, man of Megrim's line?"

Riyal nodded in thought. "I swear, not on the honor of a faithless line, but upon my own honor. Even if all of you survive, it will never be used to call you again. Upon my life I swear it."

Takad considered, then took out his pad and ejected the chip. "In remembrance of the honor you have shown, and the effort you have made to assist us and learn." He dropped it into Riyal's palm. The young man slipped it back into the recess in the ring.

The halls and rooms were quiet. There was some laughter, but it was the laughter of people sharing that last embrace before death, the murmur of voices sharing their last thoughts. He entered his room, finding the kits sprawled on his bed rather than in their basket. They were gathered around something on it, and he walked over. There was something that looked like a vest made of the skin of a druhund. He leaned closer, and had to chuckle. On the vest along one side were what looked like the nipples of baby bottles. He saw Shema's sarcastic hand in that. He felt on the back, and could tell that bladders in the lining were filled with milk already. The kits were trying to reach them with that same hungry whine he was growing to know well.

"You are all gluttons." He growled, picking it up and putting it on. Then he lay down, rolling on his side as the kits began to paw at him. He directed them into place where they began to give suck. At least the vest kept their needle claws from ripping him apart. He considered everything he had seen this day. So full of life even with the shadow of death upon them, he wished he had learned more of the Mandalorians- no the Mando'a before he had come.

The soft grumble of the kits reached into his heart, and he relaxed, falling asleep.

He awoke, seeing Taarna kneeling beside the bed. She was gathering the last sleeping kit to place in the basket. Instead of what she had been wearing before, she was dressed in a loose shift that fell to her knees, soft and supple. She turned, and saw his eyes watching her.

"I have never been with a man, Riyal." She told him. "If I must die when we arrive on your world, I will feel that touch, even if it is only for the one time. I have heard that you were given concubines, so I felt that perhaps you would know enough to give me what I seek."

He chuckled. "Given them yes. But after the first, they were concubines only in name." She looked at him curiously. "The first, Sinyin, was a sweet, gentle girl who touched my heart. But after a year my father had her set aside, because he felt her too brainless to trust with the succession. He tried to give me other more 'suitable' lovers, but you can claim all you want when the one you claim to serve ignores you by day, and bars his door by night to keep you out. So I only hope that what Sinyin and I learned in that time is enough."

"Then she was well skilled?"

He chuckled. "Actually, we were both virgin our first time."

She gasped, hand covering her mouth. "So you could hurt each other in your clumsy passion, how horrible!"

"No. As much as father called her brainless, Sinyin was wise in some things. She asked me to forgo that embrace until we learned more. It was good that we did. We humans of Naboo have no beasts to ride, and the only examples we had to go by were the Kaadu of the Gungan race that inhabits the swamps of our world. But after watching some of the Gungans breeding them, I told her that as much as they might be fun in practice after we had learned other pleasures, I was not going to muzzle and hobble her."

She giggled, slapping his chest. "You're joking!"

"No! They hobble the female kaadu after muzzling her because they will bite if frightened. Then the male sidles up and-"

She slapped him again. "Stop. I don't know that a kaadu looks like, but just thinking about it makes me want to flee!"

"Make _you_ want to flee? It put us off the idea of sex for almost a month!" He laughed. "No, Sinyin got some books and we studied them well before going beyond merely kissing and touching."

"Books!" She stared at him in amazement. "You learn about sex from books on Naboo?"

"Well if you're of a noble house it is not like you can have a practical demonstration while you eat your dinner, or by watching your kin having at it as the really poor peasants do. It is good that we did wait even after using the books. The drawings would make us blush for hours, while the text was dry and explanatory only if you were training to be a doctor. We spent more time using a dictionary to find out the meanings of the words than anything else. So we kissed, and cuddled, and as time went on we tried the touches and caresses, keeping those we found gave the other pleasure. Finally we consummated our relationship, and when we found that it was fun, we kept at it all hours we could."

He sighed. "Then she was put aside. I am sure that the others probably knew a lot more than she or I ever did about the mechanics of it. But none had her gentle heart, and I had found in that year that liking the woman you take to bed is more important than what goes where and why. I could not see any of them as someone I would take as a wife, and casual sex was of no interest."

"Oh." She looked away. "So what I offer is not something you would wish? My apology." She started to stand, but stopped when he caught her hand.

"That is not what I meant. You were the first one who treated me like a person when I arrived this morning. You taught me of the druhund, used what I had done right to assure your clan-father that I was not like those of my line. You shared your joy in the Terak, and your sorrow that you may never see one again. Gave me support when Shema would try to make me look like a fool. Oh, as to Shema, have you seen this?" He leaned up so she could see the vest fully. She giggled.

"And you have shown me so much of your own heart." She told him. "Caring for the helpless, helping us prepare for our last battle, loving as I did the Terak in flight. Taking Shema's stings and not fighting him. I felt that if there was one not of my clan that could embrace me, that it could be you." She looked up, the look so hopeful that he leaned forward, kissing her. She slipped from the sheath, then helped him out of the vest with a lot of gentle caresses and giggling on both their parts. Then flesh to flesh they lay together, his hands showing her what was good, and at his direction, her own hands touching him as well.

Soon enough she gasped at his hands and lips, then surged against him as they joined. Then they looked into each other's eyes as he gave her what she had asked for, and she gave of herself without reserve.

For a long time they merely lay together, enjoying the touch of beloved flesh, sweat drying as hands gently caressed.

"Now if you want to try hobbles next-" He cut off as she tickled him until he begged for mercy.

Terakian compound: Revelation.

Riyal came awake, hearing the cries of hungry kits. Taarna was gone, leaving only the memory of that evening and her scent. He gathered them into the basket, then dressed, carrying them to the mess hall.

All of the clansmen except for the younger children were in their armor. They sat at their meal, talking quietly though there was little rhyme or reason to who sat with whom. He found a seat, then went to get his food. There was barve ham, and he carefully shredded it into narrow slivers for the kits. Then he took extra bowls, a pitcher of blue milk, and his own meal, staggering with the tray to where his kits waited. Tyra Suli and Moro came to his table, and with a lot of giggling they were able to feed the kits. Taarna came in, and walked past, ignoring him as she filled her tray.

Someone came up behind him. It was Sammel. "The clan-father and I would wish a word before we depart. The children can watch the cubs for you." He nodded. Taarna sat at another table alone, but while she watched him walk away, she did not approach him.

As they walked, Sammel spoke to him. My words are this; Taarna is my daughter." He looked at the young man for a long moment. "What happened between the two of you remains there; She is of age and can take whomever she wishes to her bed. I would thank you for making that point in her life a fond memory. I have no more to say."

"Then why does she sit away from me now?" Riyal asked.

Sammel stopped, turning to face him. "My daughter separates herself for her own good, and yours."

"I don't understand."

Sammel looked at him, then motioned for them to continue walking. "Speak with the clan-father first. Then I will try to explain."

Keeri and Takad sat together, and Takad waved for him to sit. "We will try not to interrupt your meal for too long, Prince. Keeri examined what we learned of the ship that attacked you yesterday. We have found something, disturbing."

Riyal sat. Keeri brought up a hologram from a scanner. There it was, the split aft wing, canards along the sleek nose, as it rotated in view the main thruster with the six auxiliaries in two lines. "That's it, all right."

"A Coruscanti design about ten years old." Keeri commented. "But we find no registry of such a ship among the Casawayans." He touched some buttons. "This far out, most of the 'navies' of the planets use ships much older." These ships were sweeping arrowheads. "They have five of these old _Legion_ class corvettes built in the Kuati yards a century and a half ago." He flipped it back to the attacker. "There are only three ships of this design in the area. They belong to the 'Royal Guard' of your father."

Riyal stared at the form rotating gently before him. "So someone has bribed a guardsman to assassinate me?"

Keeri looked at him blandly. "That is a possibility."

Riyal knew the other, that for some reason his father had marked him for death. "I will think on this." He stood, bowing, then returned to his table. The mother that had berated the girls was there, her own hand idly playing with a kit. She looked up, then stood. "I am Tinge. I thought the children were not doing what they must yesterday, and for the scene we caused I apologize."

She shook Riyal's hand, looking at the girls sadly. "I also thank you for your kindness to them. You have made these days happy for them."

"Why do they not have armor?"

She looked at him with a smile. "Unlike regular clothing, armor must be fitted. Children grow like Cahval stalks after six, and it would be very expensive to make a set of armor they would outgrow in less than a year. We do not form it for a child until before their first battle where they go to find if they have a warrior heart. But for them that would usually be in five years and we did not have the time to make it for them. They have skin suits as you see, and rebreathers. If we fight on the ground, they will stay behind us, and fire into the enemy from cover."

"And in space?"

Tinge looked at the giggling girls. "They man the side guns of our ship. What they have learned to do. They are warriors in here." She slapped her breastplate. "They will not fail us."

He ate his meal, watching them all. Old and young, none looked worried by what they faced. What manner of people were they? Sailing into danger as if it were but another day's labors. He hurried, and when he had finished, he stood, walking to Sammel's table. "You said you would explain."

"Sit." Sammel poured tea, and handed a mug to Riyal. "Few see the heart of the Mando'a. They see our armor, our arms. They see us as faceless warriors. But you in this last time have seen our heart. Our play, our laughter, which few who do not know us would even believe. My daughter's warrior heart is strong, and if she were in any other clan she would go on to glory.

"But she is not. She is Terakian, and she knows that like all of us, our days will be shorter than others. She feels for you, and among those with the strongest warrior heart is also the pain of knowing this. That you will watch her die, not see her live. A warrior heart takes all it holds dear inside, where the enemy may never see it. When you know it is your time to die, you do not cling to life, to that you hold dear. Instead you take those feelings and fold them gently into your soul, and leave your home with the calm face of a warrior, knowing that in time the Force will gather those you have left behind to be with you again.

"She wants you to remember that time you had together, not that she will die. It is the greatest gift a warrior can give those they love. Look at Tinge." He turned. The woman had bent her head beside the children, laughing with her girls as they played with the kits. "Do you see her mourning? Do you see her upset that even these children will die when we arrive? She wishes them to remember the kits you brought, and the time they spent together playing with them. She will go into death with their smiles in her eyes and heart, and be content"

"But I do not wish her to leave like a mindless robot." He bit his lip at the look Sammel gave him.

"Do you think that to her it was just flesh last night? Was that all it was to you?"

"No! I will remember her for the rest of my life, and mourn that she is not by my side if she dies on Naboo. But you tell me I must let her walk into death as if it were nothing?"

"Oh, I didn't say that." Sammel drained his mug. "Some cling to others before the battle, and feel the better for it. She gives you that choice."

Riyal stared at him. "You give me two different ways to show my love, and they are opposites!"

Sammel stood, his helmet under his arm. "I didn't say it would make sense. Just that it is." He motioned. "Come, you will be aboard my ship for the voyage."

Now as if choreographed, all but a few of the clansmen stood to take the dirty dishes, and began washing them.

"You're washing the dishes before you go?" He asked confused.

"When we are gone, others of our people will occupy these buildings, till our lands as their own. We may go to die, but we leave the world better for those who will be alive when we do." Riyal picked up his dishes, carrying them over and began to wash and stack them. The children were giving the kits teary hugs, then setting them down.

"Tinge." The woman looked up. "May the girls and Moro ride in Sammel's ship with me? I need to name the kits, except for Solty here." He picked up the kit that had first bonded, scratching her behind the ears. His younger sister, dead for many years had been named Solty.

"You mean, we get to give them names?" Suli asked in amazed joy. Then she looked to her mother.

Tinge threw up her hands. "All right. You little Barves can ride in comfort while the rest of us work." She looked past them winking at Riyal, then walked out. Riyal passed the kits out, setting the one he named Solty in the crook of his arm as he followed. Even this was in orderly silence.

They passed through the armory where another elder, Conri handed the weapons out. Each took it, tested the action and slung them except for the few like Shema who carried their heavy assault blasters at port arms.

They entered the hanger, and Riyal followed Sammel and, surprisingly, Tarrna to their attack shuttle. The children followed with the kits, and settled into the crew compartment as the ramp lifted. Taarna racked her weapon beside the ramp, and stopped when Riyal stood before her.

"You will always be in my heart, and I will wait until I join the force if need to be with you again."

Her eyes softened, then she leaped into his arms. They hugged wordlessly for a long moment, then she pulled away. "I must pilot us, Riyal."

"Yes."

She smiled softly. "That means you must let me go."

"Oh, right." She touched his face delicately, then was gone. He strapped in as the engines began to rumble.

The shuttle lifted, then slid smoothly to the entry hatch. All of them were in position as they lifted off, lifting into the skies of Concordia for the last time.

Once the shuttle was in the air and arching upward, Sammel came back through the troop bay. He touched a stud on the bulkhead, and a section of the deck lifted, revealing a blister and control seat that led downward beneath the shuttle. Curious, Riyal walked aft.

Sammel noticed him, and motioned toward the seat that now was exposed in the gap. "The tail gunner's position. Every one of our ships carries at least one of the elderly, ours will be no exception unless we go into the fight direct. That one usually mans the tail gun." He sat in the couch, strapping in. His hand flickered over the controls, and a HUD appeared in midair. "The main gunner and pilot needs _traycin_; fire in thought and deed to maneuver and fight the ship. The side gunners," he motioned to similar couches both port and starboard, "need to be watchful to guard their ship. But the tail gunner is the one who is the most methodical. None but his guns protect the stern in the attack, and if he fails, the crew dies. If my daughter flies this beast, her father will protect her back."

In orbit of Naboo:

Two days later, there was a series of flashes as the assault shuttles came out of hyper. They were in the tight formation of professionals as they approached the planet.

Riyal came up to the cockpit where Sammel and Taarna were busy.

"No one in orbit." Sammel commented. "They couldn't have defeated the Naboo in such a short time. We are here first."

The com panel sounded, and Taarna tapped the button. "Clan Terakian, shuttle 7 to Naboo control. We come in answer to the pact."

"Hold." There was silence, then another voice. "This is Miraz, King of Naboo. Let me speak to my son." Taarna looked up, then motioned toward the panel. Riyal leaned over it.

"I am here, father."

"We see only assault shuttles. Where are the warriors you went to gather?"

"They are in these shuttles."

"Ah, so they expect to fight on the ground. Land at Capital Field, and we can have them deploy."

"Yes." He considered. "Father, a ship attacked _Slipstream_ in orbit of the Concord Moon. I must tell you it was destroyed."

"We can replace the ship. As long as you are safe."

"Yes father, we will be down shortly. Terakian 7 clear." He stood back. "At least my father did not plan my death. But that means someone in his guard did."

"When will you tell him?"

"If he acts as the others of my line have done, he will slaughter the only defense remaining if you fail." Riyal replied. "Until we know whether you can stop the Casawayans, his ignorance is our bliss."

"Oya Manda!" Semmel said, chuckling.

The shuttles came in, still in tight formation, then settled around the edge of the runway used by local aircraft. Thousand stood around it, cheering frantically as the shuttles powered down. The ramps dropped, and the clan dismounted. When the crowd saw how few had come, the cheering slowly died. A ground car with royal livery came through the crowd, and Miraz climbed out. He came forward, smiling, the smile faltering when he saw so few warriors. He walked over to Takad, recognizable by his armor, shaking his hand. "Welcome brave warriors of Clan Terak! We thank you for your swift response. We have quarters readied for your troops. I must speak to my son."

"He is over there." Takad motioned. Miraz's smile soured further when he saw the man walking along followed by children carrying some kind of animals.

He walked over hugging his son as he hissed. "What means this?"

"I will tell you when we are alone." He pulled away, removing his pack. Gently he put the kits in the pack, and they settled in to sleep, having been fed before they achieved orbit of Naboo. Riyal walked to the car, his father waving to the crowd as vans came out to pick up the clansmen. They climbed into the car, and it pulled out.

"Sixty? I send you to gather a clan to defend us, and you bring sixty!" He slapped his son. "Fool! What did they do, send only half? We will need them all!"

"They are all that remains, father. That is all that still live of Clan Terakian."

"Madness! Why did you not call other clans to fill it out! We know they will bring their fleet of five corvettes with a thousand soldiers! What can sixty men and women do?"

"They are Mando'a. They will fight and die as the Pact requires. As for others, Grandfather assured that no other clan would assist us when he slaughtered half of clan Terak himself. I do not know what their plan will be for this, but they will prevail, or die. "

"Die more like." Miraz snarled. "As for what my father had done their own actions supporting Sogan bought them that punishment."

"And that punishment has bought us this outcome." Riyal replied.

Miraz snorted. "I wish I had sent you to inspect before we called them forth. Now we are in it."

Riyal reached into the pack, the kits nibbling on his hand. "Your ultimatums would have been better a few years down the line."

"Yes." Miraz did not deny what Riyal was saying. "We must hope that they succeed."

"They will succeed in their purpose, father."

Miraz glared at the kits. "What are those animals? Why have you brought them here?"

"Young Druhunds, father. You always tell me that I must learn responsibility; they are the first responsibility I took upon myself."

"Well get rid of them. I will not have them soiling the residence."

"They are mine to deal with, father. You cast them out only if you cast me out as well." He moved his hand, the kits playfully dragging it back down. "Besides, my actions with these 'animals' has convinced the Terak to fight that much harder."

"Fine, play like a child as our world burns. It is what you were always best at." The car stopped at the residence, and they climbed out. Servants came down, but Riyal stopped them from taking the kits as he returned to his apartments. He asked for meat and milk for the kits, then sat at his computer. He brought up what they knew of the Casawayan fleet. He could see the difference between the ship that had attacked him in orbit, and the ones that came now to kill his people. One swift and agile,

He extrapolated their approach; though he knew little of military matters, he did know commerce, and Casaway was their closest trading partner. The space between there and Naboo was cluttered with navigational hazards, so most ships coming from Casaway would come out of hyper just outside the asteroid belt rather than closer.

There was a knock, then a servant entered. "My lord, one of the Mandalorians wishes to speak with you." Riyal merely nodded, motioning for the person to enter. If they brought all five of their warships, they could sweep in and assault the planet in hours. Now where along the arc would they come?

He felt someone behind him, and a gauntleted hand came by his head to touch the screen. "Clan-father thinks they will come in here."

He stood, turning, snatching Taarna up into a hug. She returned it, then pushed back, removing her helmet. "So it is revealed." She said teasing. "I see you merely like hugging my armor, so anyone in our armor would be hugged!"

"If you believe that, you can remove it and I will do more than hug you."

She slapped his shoulder. "No time for that." She snapped to attention. "I come from the clan-father to bring you to him so he can report our intentions."

"Then why do you call upon me? Once you are called, I am merely the one to send you home."

"Not true. According to the pact when Rothgar sent his brother Vrumigan, we report to the one who called us forth, as your father has been informed by clan-father. When we have, you report to him." She stepped back, and aside. "If you will come with me?"

"Of course. More time with you." She bowed, hiding her smile, then stood, the warrior remained. She strode to the door, opening it. A servant bearing a tray with stewed meat and milk stood there reaching for the handle. "Ah. Come in." He led the woman to the table, and began shredding the meat.

When he was done he went to get the kits from his bed, and set them gently on the table. They mewled with hunger as they always did, but gathered around his hand when he put it down over their heads. Even small their mouths were wide enough to snap on half of a man's fingers. "Come here." The woman walked over, looking nervously at the kits. "Let them drink what milk they wish, but when they stop drinking, feed them the meat until they do not want more." She merely stared at them until he grabbed her hand.

"My lord, please!" The girl tugged frantically to get free.

"Oh stop. Mando'a children of six have fed them without losing even a fingertip." He pulled her hand down until the kits began to sniff her fingers. Then one of them humped up on its haunches to sit quiet. He chuckled, reaching down with his other hand to rub the kit's ears. "Ah Solty, you know when food is present. They know from the past days that you are feeding them. They will be satisfied with that." The woman looked on with wonder, then guilt.

"My lord, wait. Let me get more." Something about her desperation to leave reached through.

Riyal looked at her. "Truth would be best now."

"Your father. He... he mixed something into the milk, and sprinkled it upon the meat as well."

Riyal's face showed nothing. "And what was to happen?"

"He hoped they would die while you were out of your rooms, and that he could say something about our food did not agree with them." She looked at the kits. "I do not see monsters. I see helpless adorable little animals, and while I obey him in all things, I do not feel right that they should be poisoned. Please." She bowed her head. "Forgive me."

"For doing what my father told you to do?"

"You do not hate the slave of your enemy." Taarna said. "Proximity does not make you an enemy as well."

Riyal nodded. "Agreed, warrior. Would you call the children? They can go to the kitchen at my command, and none can gainsay them in getting food for themselves and the kits. If a child of the clan were injured or killed by poison, it would violate the Pact if I am not mistaken."

"That is true. Hold, please." She lifted her com link speaking rapidly, then her head cocked as she heard the reply in her earpiece. "They come. If this one will guide them to the kitchen?"

Riyal nodded turning to the servant. "I will stay until you return. Unlike my father, I will not hold it against you if something happens, but I charge you to tell any that try to add even spice to their food this; if a Mando'a child dies of it, the Pact is void. And while I hold you blameless, I personally will not be so forgiving of those that thwart me in this if a kit dies but the children are merely made sick."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you." The woman shivered in terror as she scurried out. He wondered, had the servants always been this afraid of him before?

A moment later a guard called, and Riyal ordered him to let the children pass through to the kitchens. A short time later, the children came in with the servant following. Taarna spoke to them swiftly in their own tongue, and Riyal watched three children put on the same face he had seen on so many of the adults. Tyra began shredding the meat as each of the other children poured glasses of the milk and drank them down.

"We will eat some of the meat and wait before feeding your kits." Suli told him. "Verag, Shosha, Calliam and Solty will be safe. We will die before they eat if necessary."

Riyal knelt, clutching the child. "Oya Manda!"

She giggled. Then she said, "You are speaking it through your nose."

He chuckled, rubbing her head. "I will learn to speak it better." He stood. "Warrior, I come as called."

Conference: Naboo.

Riyal recognized the scene, though not the location. The warriors had been stuffed into an old warehouse as if they were animals being housed for transport. Of course the insult rolled off their backs.

"I come as called." Riyal said.

"Good Prince-"

"Please, clan-father. Until I am worthy of that title, I refuse to accept it."

"As you will, Riyal." Takad brought up the system in a holographic display placed on a crate. "As Taarna has told you, we anticipate they will come in here." Five red dots appeared. "If they know we are here, or think we have arrived first, they will come in probably in this formation." Two of the ships moved forward in echelon left, the other three formed in echelon right behind the leaders. "It gives them the best coverage defensively against small combatants. We will deploy to break the formation and destroy as many as we can.

"We intended to take off immediately, and face them in orbit where their numbers are only five to fifteen rather than a thousand to our sixty." He grimaced. "But we have run into problems. Your minister in charge of supply is demanding that we pay for not only fuel, but for our food as well with additional charges to have it delivered."

Riyal stared at him. "You come to fight and die for us. You do so by a contract four and a half centuries old where we can call you and don't have to pay for your services, and this fool expects you to pay for the privilege?"

"We did point out the problem. But it seems he has the authority to demand payment." Takad sighed. "If we must buy our fuel in dribbles, we cannot maintain the defense we would wish. If we are tied to orbit due to lack of fuel, or we cannot stock our ships with supplies for two weeks or more we might as well be sitting on the ground. One of your ancestors added a codicil about three centuries ago that we had to clear any other contract through your line before we can accept it, and most of the time, your rulers have merely said no, so we have had little coming in before your grandfather's time. None for the last eighty years

"His reply is that we can sign a voucher that will allow him to seize the equipment we have brought, and if it is not sufficient, claim our lands on the Concord Moon in violation of Mando'a law."

He had been surprised by the equipment the Mando'a had considered necessary. When they lifted off, the shuttles were ready for an assault where they would have to blast through a blockading fleet, then suppress ground fire before they landed, and provide aerial support after their troops were down. So the wings held concussion missiles to destroy vehicles and bunkers, with cluster bombs for infantry.

Inside the shuttles they carried everything needed for when they had a space head established; dual purpose heavy blasters to shoot down enemy aircraft or vehicles, Anti-shipping missiles and blasters, crew operated plasma and blaster cannon, mines, and millions of rounds for all of them. In fact every shuttle had been so loaded.

Riyal considered his father buying all the ordinance the Mando'a had brought, then how much the middle man could make if the Minister simply put it a voucher for his department for the weapons already on the ground and pocketed the money. He looked to Takad, snarling. "I think I will speak to this man. I want a man who speaks Basic, but can pretend he does not to stand behind me."

"Any of our people can do that."

"Then here is where I earn the title of Prince." He motioned Takad out of range of the camera. A figure in armor walked up behind him as he keyed in the code.

"Ministry of Supply. Minister Torim's office." A bright cheery woman answered.

"This is Prince Riyal. I want to speak to the minister this very minute."

"I am sorry my Lord. He is in a mee-" The secretary stopped as Riyal raised his hand.

"Do you recognize me?"

"Yes my lord."

"Then you will tell the minister this; that if he is not in communication with me here among the Terakians in the next three minutes, I will have him arrested for treason to the state and shot. In fact I will personally lead some of them there and execute him in the lobby of the building as an object lesson." He ended the call. He looked at the figure in armor. "Care to time it?"

The helmet turned, and he heard Shema's voice. "I started timing it when you cut the circuit." The com-board chimed, and Shema replied. "Two minute, eleven seconds."

Riyal put on a quiet face, like his father did when he made such a decision, touching the acceptance key. The man looking back at him was bland and colorless. "My lord, you don't know what you are threatening-"

"Spare me your excuses. I have no doubt you have been lining your pockets since you took office, but in this case you are bordering on treason."

"Your father-"

"I know that all ministers serve at his majesty's pleasure. But you are trying to extort money from the ones that will keep you in that office by spending their lives. You would limit their capabilities for money, and put our people in danger in the process. From where I sit, that is treason, and that is punishable by death for you and your entire family."

He leaned forward. "If I am forced to come down there and deal with you, my father's opinion will not remove the bullets from your head. You will order the supplies and fuel they requested loaded, and they will inventory and verify it when it gets here. As soon as I find one that speaks Basic, this one will lead the ones checking it in. Better yet, this one will go to the government store house and collect it." He motioned toward Shema. "And you will think of this as they are en route;

"I am sure you will think to call my father, and have him tell me to stand down, or have them accept your greedy demands. But if you do, you had best hope the Clan fails and the Casawayans find a use for you. Because eventually, my father will die, and I will ascend the throne, and I am not pleased with you in the slightest.

"When that occurs your titles will be taken, your lands and bank accounts seized, and your family will disappear. Not be executed; disappear as if they had never even existed. Except for you.

"You will be tried publicly for perculation and be shot. And if I have my way every man on the firing squad will have orders to shoot you in the belly! Decide!"

He had thought the man colorless, but now he truly was. He was pale and his eyes were wide with terror. "I will order it immediately."

"Good." Riyal stood, looking around. "Takad! A moment please!" He motioned. Takad, with a wide grin on his face waited until Riyal added a gentle nod. Then he put on a harsh look, and stepped into view. Riyal gave his instructions again, and Takad repeated them in Mando'a. Shema simply replied, 'Chu' and marched away. Riyal looked at the man. "Never fail my family again in even the smallest thing, Torim. This was the only chance you will get from me. Riyal clear." He hit the end key savagely.

"Clan father, please, continue."

Takad gave him a wide grin. "As you say, Prince. As I was saying, in orbit we can face them with fifteen shuttles against five corvettes."

Riyal nodded. The enemy ships were large enough that one of them out-massed all of the assault shuttles. "I understand. What do you think of your chances, clan-father?"

Takad looked at the display. "Any three of them could slaughter us in an hour, perhaps a bit more. Though victory in war is never assured by heavier ships on their side, or skill on ours. We have to depend on luck and our _tracyn_, our fire." He gave a feral grin. "And they must deal with our reputation. That will be a shock if they do not know we were already here."

"What shall I tell my father?"

"Tell him that none of the enemy will land as long as we live. That is all he needs to know."

"Chu!" Riyal replied.

Takad smiled. "We must unload the shuttles, and assemble the fuel tanks. Once that is done we can launch and fight."

"It will be done. I will help."

The younger Mando'a leaped on the load lifters. The systems howled into operation, and five lifters moved toward the first shuttle. They began moving the cargo pallets, setting them to the sides of the warehouse, arranged by contents.

Riyal followed them to another lifter sitting idle. He climbed aboard, checking the switches. Then as he flipped them it came to purring life. He trundled into line behind another. Since he had helped load them, it was easy to keep up with where they would be set and organized. As each shuttle was emptied, other lifters brought over the dismantled fuel tanks, and other members of the clan began assembling them in the open bays at the stern. Four tanks were assembled then bolted together in a square pattern bolted to the frame so soon each would have eight tanks with fuel enough to stay on patrol for a month at need.

One set of four meter long crates were opened, and as each lifter slid up to the end of a wing, clansmen attached the wide missiles to the one of the launch rails beneath each wing. Then launchers with ten proton torpedoes each were set on the outer rail, then finally the rail on the end of the wing received another missile. He was told they were decoys that would appear to be assault shuttles even to their own sensors.

Shema's drivers returned, along with half a dozen fuel browsers which began filling the tanks on and in the shuttles. As the last shuttle was unloaded, Riyal went to help the others unloading the vans of food, first stacking them by what the crates contained, then splitting it up so each ship would receive what it needed. Once that was done the crates were moved into the shuttles.

Except for at the first where he was instructed not to put it here ('It will block access to that turret') or here ('How am I to get to the cockpit with it there, you d'kut!') they worked until each shuttle looked to be stuffed, though there were strategic walkways for the crew, and each load was strapped down.

If anything, their treatment of him improved even more. There was good natured joking and he was part of it this time. "Not legumes!" Conri moaned as they stacked food. "They give me the wind!"

"Everything gives you the wind, Conri!" Volkan joked.

"And you assign him to my ship." Another elder, Hasred, grumbled. "It smells bad enough without him."

"But think of the musical arrangements you can have with Conri and Drisk aboard." Shema said.

"Please, I was trying not to."

"Well at least we won't have Riyal aboard. Just what we would need, music and a water display." Another elder, Canad laughed.

"Well I would try to hold my water, Canad." Riyal replied, grunting as the crate of ship's biscuits he had was hoisted atop the crate of canned barve. "Though I might join the music if given half a chance, and three plates of legumes first."

"Conri only needs one."

"Ah, but he is so much older and has more experience making it musical."

"There is that."

As the last of the equipment was stacked, several of the elder Mando'a began stringing anti-personnel mines and booby traps to stop anyone from merely driving up a van and loading it.

Finally everything was loaded, and the Mando'a gathered at the crate where Takad had shown this plan.

Takad nodded to each of the pilots, then walked over to one of the crates they had taken off his shuttle, opening it. Inside was a crystal matrix large enough to fit in both hands. He walked over to Riyal with it. "This is the great Soochir of our clan, what the Jedi would call a holocron, for they learned of the crystal's worth from us long ago. Everything the Clan has ever done has been recorded on it.

"When we depart on the hour, all of our Soochir will be linked to it, so what we do here will be remembered. I ask you; guard it with your life, assure that when we are gone, it is returned to Manda'lor, so the clans will know of our bravery."

Riyal reached out, accepting the weight. "I am honored by your trust."

"Set it down for a moment, lad." Riyal set it down, and Takad took his hand, his left hand on Riyal's shoulder. "Know you that your own line is redeemed by your actions. We will fight as we did all those years past for such a noble purpose, and to earn your favor."

"You have my favor and my prayers, clan-father. Death or glory."

"Death or glory indeed." Takad turned. "Oya Manda!"

"Death or glory!" They shouted. They began to gather their weapons, surging toward the shuttles. Riyal turned to pick up the Clan Soochir again, but a hand caught his arm. Sammel motioned with his chin toward Taarna.

Riyal nodded, turning to walk over to her. Before the girl could ask, he swept her into a hug. They held each other, wishing the time would not end. Then finally Taarna pushed him back. "In this world and the next, I will always love you, Riyal." She sobbed.

"Wait for me when my time comes." Riyal replied, feeling his eyes fill with tears.

"In the Force there is no time. It will be as if I fell asleep, and awoke when you came." They kissed as if the world could end and they did not care. Then they separated. When they walked from the warehouse, no one would have known they even knew each other.

He stood, alone as the shuttles lifted off. They moved upward, engines taking over from repulsorlifts, arching skyward. One moved, wings waggling, and he lifted his hand as if she could see him until they disappeared out of sight.


	5. Butcher's Bil and Redemption

Theed, Naboo one week later:

Riyal rolled over, slapping the stud on his annunciator. "Yes?"

"The Casawayan fleet has arrived." A servant reported.

"I will be there in a few moments." He touched another button, calling the servant that had taken care of the kits with the children, leaving them in her care. They had grown in the last week. Their eyes had opened, and they had explored his rooms with the joy you would have expected of children. They had run clumsily outside at first when he took walks, looking into the sky, waiting for the enemy to arrive.

Sometimes Solty would run with the others, but then would run back, trying, with her body language to have him run and play with them. Some times he would, running for kilometers, paced by the kits. Most of the time, especially the last few days, he would merely walk, wishing the waiting would be over. Solty didn't understand, but she would pace him, watching him, and trying to make him play. In her movements, he saw the fluid stride of her mother. She had grown large enough to leap into his arms, and did so now on a daily basis.

He was appalled by the fact that he knew so few of their names up there. He has listed the shuttles by name, and in his mind he now knew all that made this stand.

The kits leaped from the bed and inundated the servant, Mari. She had grown to care for them, and her love was returned by the kits. They pinned her down, tongues laving her face as she laughed.

"Take care of them, Mari." He told her. Pulling Solty up to tongue his face in her excitement. "Of all on our world they are my most precious."

"As you will, My lord." She sat up, hugging two of the kits.

He sighed. " If the Clan dies, and the Casawayan still come, take your family and my kits Mari; bring them to Capital Field." He knelt beside her. "Protect them for me, please."

She cuddled the kits. "I will do as you command, my prince."

"Not as your prince." He caught her hand. "As Riyal of Naboo who loves these kits, that would save your family and them, I ask this. I do not command."

She looked into his eyes. "As one of your own people, Riyal, I will do this."

He stood, and left the kits in her care.

He dressed, hurrying down to the command center. He felt his father's designation insulting. The only ones with training had been in orbit. He had been given a quick course in operating the sensor repeater, but didn't feel even remotely qualified.

Miraz stood over the holotable, looking at the orbital plane. "We need to see what is happening, Riyal."

Riyal took the control seat, bringing up the system from the asteroid belt inward. The five enemy warships had come out exactly where Takad had assumed. Yes, the Casawyan fleet. They were in a V formation. They moved ponderously, turning to maintain their formation as they approached.

"Where are they?" A voice demanded. Riyal looked up. Torim, in a military uniform that would have looked better on stage. Instead of asking what the man thought he was doing, he brought up the IFF signals. A string of fifteen transponders were in geosynchronous orbit, and as he brought it up, they surged toward the enemy in two unconnected lines. two ships labeled T4 and T9 slowed, allowing the others to pass. T4, Keeri and T9 Shema. But why only two?

"What are those cowards doing?" Torim demanded.

"My question, is why the Minister of Supply is asking." Riyal replied.

"Oh, you haven't heard." Miraz replied. "Minister Torim has been named my Minister of War."

Riyal looked at his father, then at the comic opera officer. "And his qualifications?"

"Total loyalty to the crown." Miraz replied. "And access to weapons necessary to our defense."

_Of course. If he can steal the supplies the Clan brought._ Riyal thought. "And where does our Minister of War expect to get this ordinance?"

"By deploying the equipment the Mandalorians delivered." Torim replied. "As for that, I was informed you were given the access codes for their booby traps-"

"I was not." Riyal replied. _Even if I were, I would not give them to you_. He turned back to the scanner readout. The warships had begun to slide into the formation Takad had anticipated.

The Mando'a charged forward, and the enemy turned into them, except for that curious show by Keeri and Shema.

"Shields double front." Keeri ordered. The fleet was in the asteroid belt now, and there was a gap growing between the lead element and their fellows. But the assault shuttles were misplaced, too far forward to take advantage of it.

At that moment, he heard Takad order "_Jurkad_!" Attack! He noticed flashes of light near the second ship in the lead element, and suddenly the transponder flashed with an amber ring denoting severe damage. Then the icon flashed again, and vanished. As they watched, suddenly another mass of shuttle transponders appeared. Among them was T1, Takad's shuttle, and T11, Conri's.

"They brought more shuttles!" Torim almost whispered.

_ No, they hadn't_. Riyal thought. _They had loaded up on decoys; that explains why there are only four of fifteen transponders. and each is carrying enough missiles for half a squadron of snub fighters_. The lead ship was now running toward the supporting vessels. Keeri, Shema, and their supporting decoys were charging up the stern of the ship, and missiles flew. The ship staggered, then began drifting. But even without engines she was a tough customer. Only the actual shuttles raced past the stricken giant. Then Keeri's shuttle flashed damage, rolling to turn toward the planet. The ship rammed into the asteroid field, then suddenly vanished.

Shema's shuttle joined the two under Takad and their decoys, charging toward the attackers. The enemy were tightening their formation, spreading to fire toward them as suddenly another formation of fifteen 'shuttles' charged into their left flank. There were five transponders flashing, and he cataloged them Tinge, Moroven, Calad, Serna and Taarna. And instant later a fourth group struck from the other side with five more Santa, Deros, Vaandre, Porto, and Riis.

There was the confusion of cockpit chatter as the pilots gave swift orders, or screams of excitement as they plunged into the formation. Some of that was cut short as lasers and plasma cannon washed across the thin Mando'a lines, and transponders vanished forever.

These groups scissored through the formation, focusing on the lead vessel and her consort. Missiles ripped into the warships, and the leader began a ponderous turn. Her guns ripped into the third attack, and transponders began to vanish. As the ship finally began to come apart, only Taarna and Tinge broke through. Suddenly those shuttle flashed damage, and turned toward the planet. The imperiled consort had turned into the fourth attack, and took damage as her fire ravaged the attackers before being destroyed. None of the transponders survived.

The lone survivor was running toward the edge of the asteroids. Behind her came Takad's attack and Kerri's. Then ahead of them a fifth attack with only one transponder, Canad. But the blip was larger than it should be. The corvette turned guns ripping into the shuttles coming from both sides. Canad's transponder suddenly went out, followed by Takad's and Conri's. Shema's flashed damage indicators, then turned toward the planet. Then the ship tried to hyper out, but all of the surviving decoys had formed a net before them.

Perhaps they thought the mass of the decoys was incidental, or there were more asteroids behind them fig leafed by their blaring images. No; Riyal realized what had happened. Canad had been chosen because he was one of the elders; he had known the enemy might try to flee, and he had used the shuttle's tractor beam to draw in enough smaller asteroids to double, even triple the area of his ship. Enough to make a hyper jump dangerous. The ship began to hyper out, then came apart in the edge of the asteroid field, leaving only her attackers. Of the Mandalorian attackers, only four shuttles had survived, and all were flashing damage.

"They won, father, but at what cost?" Riyal stood.

"Son-"

"They are damaged, father. Contact Capital field, have the emergency vehicles readied." He ran from the room.

Counting the Cost

Riyal would have been there faster, but his father and the 'Minister of War' needed their entourage, so four cars finally pulled up at the field. The delay meant that when Riyal leaped out, they could already see the smoking shuttles. They were all together, and he could see them as they passed over the field rather than trying to land.

One of the traffic controllers came running. "None of them are sure of their repulserlifts are working correctly. They are going to use the taxiway to leave the runway as clear as possible, and come in with the most damaged first."

Keeri Taarna, Tinge and Shema passed overhead as one shuttle broke away to approach.

Riyal took his electrobinoculars, and focused on the shuttles as the first began her approach. "T four." the controller said.

_Keeri_. Riyal supplied. The entire aft portion of the shuttle had been shredded, obviously from secondary explosions. The front half was little better, Riyal could see scoring around the viewports of the flight deck. It lowered delicately, and for a moment, Riyal thought it would land safely. Then the repulserlifts exploded as it was activated, and the shuttle slammed down on the edge of the runway. It porpoised, flipping into the air then down again, parts shredding off as it did it again and again before sliding to a halt. Emergency vehicles surrounded the crashed ship, men tearing open the forward hatch. No one tried the aft portion immediately; it would have taken an act of a beneficent god to live through that. Suddenly the frantic movements slowed, and a shredded body was lowered from the hatch.

The controller touched the earbug. "The gunner in the tail gunner position was crushed, the other two gunners are torn to pieces." His face twisted. "The oldest one couldn't have been fifteen."

"I know." Riyal sighed. "Who's next?"

"T 15."

_ Tinge_ His mind supplied. This shuttle was also torn apart aft, in fact as she passed over, he could see the torn space where the rear turret had been. She came in low, then her repulserlifts screamed into life. It staggered, moving away from the runway, and slowly dropped. Now he could see the viewports of the cockpit, and the damage caused by a missile where they were blown out. She slammed down, her oleo struts screaming. A moment later the forward hatch blew free. A figure in armor, with something under each arm leaped to the ground, staggering away from the ship as fire laced through the aft bay as air caused the fire to flashback. The blast threw the figure into a roll, and it curled around whatever was being carried.

Riyal found himself running to the crumpled figure. It tried to stand up, but now he could see the rents in the front of the armor, blood running from it. The arms moved, and now he could see two unconscious figures, Suli and Tyra. He grabbed the armor, rolling the figure on her back, for he knew who was in it. He found the catches, and threw the helmet aside.

Tinge looked up, eyes vague. "The girls." She gasped, blood running down her face. "Gods, the girls!" She struggled.

"They're all right." One of the medics told him. "Just unconscious."

"Did you hear, Tinge, they're fine."

"They're fine." She whispered, then she smiled. The medics came now to take off her armor, but Riyal shook his head. He closed the dead eyes, and laid her down gently.

He stood, looking up. Taarna's shuttle was next. Something had blown through both sides in the aft compartment, and he could see a body hanging from the turret on his side. She brought it gently, setting it down. The main gear collapsed on the starboard side, and it fell over. He ran toward it as the forward hatch opened. A figure in armor leaped down, running frantically aft. He turned to follow.

Taarna had ripped off her helmet, and was pounding her fists on the transparisteel of the rear gunner's turret. "Buir!" She screamed. "Buir!" He skidded to his knees beside her. In helping to load and repair the ships, he had been show the emergency hatch release, and he caught it pulling. There was a groaning sound, and the bubble fell forward. Taarna punched the emergency release for Sammel's straps, and the body fell forward into her arms. She pulled, and the body, at least all above the hips came to her. She gave a gasp of dismay, but pulled the remains out to hug them. Her eyes closed, and tears ran down her face as she whispered to the body. Then she laid it down.

"Shema?" she asked.

Riyal looked. "He's coming in now." They stood.

This shuttle might have been the least damaged, but that was only in comparison. The aft section had been blown off forward of the rear turret, and her main gear had been taken with it. Instead of trying to land as normal, Shema held it with a bravura performance of his skill with gear up, and settled in on her belly. Instead of opening the hatch, he came from the shattered stern. One body was held in his arms, another draped over his shoulder. He climbed down, the medics taking the forms from him.

He pulled away his helmet. "Moro and Sunri." Riyal remembered the two boys, both around seven. "Moro is still alive, but he's badly wounded."

"Sunri?" Riyal asked. Shema merely shook his head.

"This is all?" Riyal turned back to look at Torim. "How can we occupy Casaway with only-" His words died as Riyal punched him in the mouth.

"Occupy? Use your damn secret police, you bastard!" He went to the only ambulance that held living injured Mando'a. He knelt beside the gurneys, and his hand lifted Moro's left hand because there was no right hand or arm to hold. Shema and Taarna joined him. As the ambulance screamed toward the hospital, each held the hand of a clan member.

Naboo a week later: Freedom.

Riyal looked at the few that remained, except Moro, who was still in treatment. All were in armor except for the younger girls, though Suli carried her mother's helmet, and Tyra had attached her pauldrons to her suit. They marched down the hall. There weren't guards, his father had sent them to lead the 'liberation' force. The door opened, and they came into the throne room. Along the sides of the room were statues of his line on pintels. Riyal almost sneered. _We're great for statuary, but heavens forbid we spill our blood_ he thought Here were the only guards remaining, seven men in armor. His father sat on the throne, and Torim stood behind him. _Lackey_ Riyal thought. _The media is already praising your leadership, worm. As if you did anything_.

"Ah, my son. And our brave warriors. I commend you for your defense of our world."

"Yes, another great victory. We have fulfilled the pact. Just let us go home." Shema snarled.

"Oh we can't do that." Miraz purred. "Your clan decided to stop breeding to escape our control, and that I cannot allow. From this day forward you will live here on Naboo, and we will supply suitable partners until your clan is at full strength again."

Riyal felt the warriors stiffen. He cleared his throat."You cannot give that order, father."

Miraz started to speak, but the door opened, and a figure in a brown robe entered. The figure bowed, then pulled back her hood. Hair as white as frost was revealed, her skin dark. "I am Jedi knight Rossala Bindo. I have just come from Casaway."

"We will listen to you in a moment, Jedi." Miraz said. Then he turned to his son. "You stand against me?"

"The pact can only be changed by re-invoking it. That I must do."

"Then do it." Miraz waved as if it were of no consequence.

Riyal sighed, turning to Taarna, the senior of the survivors. As he did, he keyed his personal com link. "Mari, move the kits, now!" Then he spoke aloud. "I call upon the pact."

She looked at him with utter loathing. "Man of Naboo. You come to call us to battle once again?"

"By the pact agreed, I call you. Our people are in danger, and need our strong sword arm. I, Riyal of the house of Megrim, call for you to march."

"And by the change the Jettise negotiated when Sogan called us falsely?"

Riyal took hold of the signet, and twisted. The plate pulled free revealing the chip. He held out his hand. "The proof that I am the true messenger."

Her face was closed as she took it. She slid it into her pad, and put in a code. She paused. "Jedi, I call you to witness."

"What?" Miraz looked confused.

"The Jedi walked over, taking the pad. She looked at it. "I do witness." She said, handing it back.

Taarna gave the king a cold smile. "Under the change the Jedi negotiated when your uncle called us in bad faith, this chip was created, and made so that no one could copy it. Any attempt would delete the Pact, and that attempt would also void it. That has been done, and the pact is no more."

"What means this?" Miraz shouted.

"It means they are free." Riyal replied. He turned back to the Mando'a. "As the one who voided the pact, I give you back your lives."

"Traitor!"

Riyal turned. "Traitor, Torim? Was it I that tried to steal their equipment first as Minister of supply, then of war?" He looked at the guards who had aimed their weapons. "Was it I who accepted money to kill myself in orbit of Concordia?" He looked at his father's furious face. "We have slaughtered their clan so our house could conquer, so that you could rule now another planet, father. That is past. They are free!"

His father stood. "You stand against me-"

Riyal turned, extending his hand to Taarna. She looked at him, then shrugged her rifle from her shoulder. Shema and the younger girls had already lowered their weapons, facing off against the guards. They could kill Riyal and the girls, but Shema's weapon would turn that end of the room into a choice slice of hell before he fell. There was a hiss, and the Jedi's violet blade leaped into being.

"If you do not lower those weapons, I will personally kill you all." She growled. The guards lowered their weapons.

Riyal lifted the weapon. Taarna mouthed the word 'safety' and his thumb flipped the switch. Then he turned toward the pintels and statues along the walls of the throne room. He pulled the trigger, and the weapon screamed as he poured the bullets into the statue of Megrim. The statue shattered under the pounding, and he shifted his aim, Rothgar's statue beginning to come apart. Suddenly the firing stopped, and he cursed.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Taarna extended a fresh magazine. He took it, then thrust it and the weapon into her hands. "Not good enough." He looked to Shema. The man grinned, handing him the assault blaster.

"I would step back." Shema said in a conversational tone. "You are well inside minimum safe distance."

Riyal looked at him. He knew the young man was still baiting him. "Will I be safe behind the pintel?"He pointed at the one opposite Megrim's which had no statue, but had his own name already carved into it.

"You should be safe." Shema demurred. The Mando'a and Jedi stepped back almost to the door.

Riyal gave him a manic grin, then gave a laugh as Tyra handed him her headset. He slipped it on, stepped over to stand behind the pintel, and aimed. The blast ripped the pintel that had held Megrim's statue into shards. Smoothly he shifted, and one by one demolished all of his line down toward the throne. The guards had dived for cover, and Torim had followed their example.

The weapon smoked, and he saw a word flashing on the HUD. "What does this mean?" He snarled.

Shema stepped forward, a flat case in his hand. "It is telling you to reload." He thumbed a button on the bottom, and the empty magazine dropped down. Shema popped the empty out, then slapped the new one home. Riyal nodded, then wiped his face with his right hand, coming away with red. He looked at it, then extended the hand. Shema smiled. "I said you _should_ be safe, not that you would be."

"Your sense of humor needs work." Riyal replied. He walked back to where the others stood. "Here?"

"You are safe." Shema admitted.

Riyal nodded, then aimed at the pintel that was empty, and his own placement in history was shattered. He swept down the line, and as the weapon gave him the reload command again, they were all scrap.

"I need one more shot." He growled. Shema handed him the next magazine. Riyal mounted it. His father was standing up. "I would get away from the throne, father."

The man looked at him, then he was running, followed by the guards and Torim. Riyal waited until they were almost to him, then aimed. Everyone on that end of the room dived for cover as his shot went over their heads, the throne reduced to nothing but burning scraps.

Riyal found himself screaming as that last shot went out, and it took an act of will to stop him from lowering the muzzle and wiping his father and the guards from existence. He was breathing as if he had run a marathon, and his hands were flexing. Shema reached forward, pulling the weapon from his hands. "I think you have had enough fun, Riyal."

"I give up my claim to the throne father. Deal with that."

"He has greater problems." Bindo commented. "As I said, I have come from Casaway. Your occupation force has run into trouble. In fact as I was leaving orbit, the last of them were surrendering. Showay, son of the Prefect of Casaway, who died facing your Mando'a warriors swears he will see your house extinct, your majesty."

"Then..." Miraz stood. "Warriors, we needs your assistance! We will pay well!"

Taarna gave him a contemptuous look. "The only member of your house worthy of following has just demolished the throne room. I will accept his words, not yours." She looked at Riyal. "My Prince?"

"To hell with him." Riyal growled. He looked to the Jedi "And as I am no longer a prince, may I ask your indulgence in taking me and mine away from here."

"I would be honored."

"But, son! What are we to do?" Miraz asked in horror.

Riyal motioned toward Torim, who still lay cowering on the floor. "Ask your Minister of War. After all he was the hero of the battle. Just ask the media. We are done."


	6. The Return

Concord Moon, a year later: Return

The Jedi combat scout entered orbit. The signal went out, and they received the coordinates. The compound was bustling as they came down to land. Rossala Bindo sighed as Padawan Tarim Devos shut down. The young man looked at the organized movement. "I have never been to Manda'lor or their moon."

"They are an interesting people. Their honor is more important than anything to them. But there were only five survivors of this clan when they returned home last year. I wonder who all of these are." She looked to the young man sitting in the seat behind them. "Ready?" The man nodded.

They strode down the ramp. Three children, one missing his right arm met them at the bottom of the ramp. "We have been sent to bring you to our clan-mother." The boy said.

"We thought the clan was only five survivors." Bindo mentioned.

"_Aliit ori'shya taldin._" the boy said.

"True." Bindo commented. She looked to her Padawan. "Family is more than blood."

"You speak some of our tongue. Good. These are those of other clans who aid us as we rebuild. Some have joined our clan, perhaps a hundred. We are still too few to take contract."

"Then we have wasted our time." The young man with the Jedi snapped.

"Please, Pel." Bindo raised her hand. "Take us to your clan-mother."

The trio led them through the building. Young men and women were cleaning rooms, prepping them for habitation. Then the hall debouched into what was obviously a mess hall. A young woman held a baby to her breast, whispering to the baby in her own tongue. Behind her stood a man in blue tinged armor.

She looked up at them, then lifted the now sleeping babe from her breast, covering up as she did. "I recognize you, Jedi Bindo. You ask our aid?"

"I brought one who asks." Bindo replied.

"Then let him speak." She said. She handed the child to the man behind her, who cuddled him for a time before handing him to a woman who took him.

"I come from Sinyin Amidala of Naboo." Pers snarled. The clan-mother merely looked at him.

"And she is?"

"Once concubine to Riyal, prince of Naboo." He announced proudly.

The clan mother bound up her garments. "And this woman of Naboo is important to us in what manner?"

"To you it is but a name, but to Riyal, perhaps important. Will you tell us where he is?"

The clan mother cocked her head. "Riyal is no more." She replied.

"Lies! He went with you a year ago!" Pel shouted

The woman looked at the man not even her age. "Riyal came to Concordia, true. But he is no more. What part of that do you not understand?"

For a moment, Bindo thought the lad would explode. Then he collapsed. "My mission is a failure."

"You have not yet failed." The clan-mother told him. "Speak your request."

Bindo stood there for several minutes, then nudged Pel. "Reveal the message."

"If Riyal is dead, it is worthless." He sighed.

"We owe a debt of honor to Riyal of Naboo." The clan-mother said softly. "Give us this message, and the provenance."

The boy snarled, but both Jedi glared at him. "Sinyin was my older sister. She was briefly concubine to Riyal. But he set her aside, accusing her of being a harlot."

The clan mother looked at him. "Did Riyal accuse her so?"

"No." Pel admitted. "But his father did. His accusation drove our family into penury."

"Ah. This Sinyin however seems to think Riyal would think better of her?"

Pel sighed. "She thought better of Riyal than my family did afterward. She asked me to deliver this message."

The clan-mother nodded. "Then give your message."

"No." Pel snapped.

The woman looked up. Her eyes grew cold, "If the past is an impediment..."

"Pel, tell them in truth." Bindo ordered.

"She believed you would not come, and therefore would ask Riyal to intercede for our world. If he is dead, there is no one to ask."

For a moment, the woman looked at the young man. "But she believed he would intercede. To pay our debt to him, I would listen to this plea."

The boy took a holoprojector from his belt, and inserted a chip. Sinyin was an attractive woman. For a moment, it was just a portrait in the air, then it began to speak. "My prince, we have not spoken for years, and I do not know what feelings you had for me during our time together. But I hoped that you shared the feelings I had for you.

"Our world is in danger. The Casawayans attacked us two months ago in retaliation for your fathers actions. We had no defense, and were quickly overrun. While a great number of our people welcomed them after you father and his ancestors, that has become terror. They shot your father, and the ministers of his cabinet, but then they also executed their entire extended families and the households down to the youngest servant. We live in fear even greater than your line ever caused us because now they come, take control of our factories and businesses, and if anyone protests, they are shot out of hand.

"You loved our planet and our people once, and I ask you personally to help us in our dire need. We know you went with the clan your family shamefully used, and ask that you intercede with them or such clans as might listen to you. If you ever had feelings for our people, feelings for me; I beg you, free our people." The image froze.

"The remaining is a personal message for Riyal alone, but only if he was able to gain support from your clan. Since you cannot accept contract-"

"Our newest clan members have still the clans they are from who can be asked." The clan-mother looked at the man who stood behind her. He took off his helmet.

The boy looked at him, then at the woman in the chair. "You lied."

"She did not. Once I was Riyal of Naboo. Now I am merely Dru of clan Terakian." He knelt beside the chair, his hand brushing the sleeping baby's head. "There are clans that owe us a debt of honor, and with my wife's permission, I will call upon them."

"I am not sure." Taarna commented. "You never told me she was beautiful."

"You never asked." He replied.

Taarna looked at the boy. "We will call the clans. We can be ready in 24 hours even if it is only us. We said we were too few to take contract, but this is a debt of honor."

"Show us the rest of it, please."

Pel touched a key, and the holo resumed. Sinyin was no longer the prim proper lady asking assistance. She was sad. "If you are viewing this, my prince, I am already dead. I know what I face, and what I must do.

"I wish your father had not set me aside, not spread slanders that caused my family to order me never to contact you. If that had never happened, we could have been together still. Part of me died when you left with the Mandalorians without even trying to find me. I never said it while I was with you, and was never allowed to tell you after." She bit her lip, looking away, then back up, eyes bright with tears.

"I loved you then, and loved you still. I go to my death loving you. Always remember that." The holo vanished.

Dru stood, taking the projector, and holding it as if it were a precious gem. "Tell me."

"Right before we left Naboo, Sinyin led a peaceful protest on the campus of the university of Theed." Bindo said softly. "The Casawayans sent in troops, beat the protesters, and took her prisoner. They took her to the river's edge above the waterfall, stripped her naked, then beat her to her knees. When she was still defiant, they slit her throat and threw the body into the river.

"The protesters attacked the military, and the soldiers opened fire, slaughtering them, burning down the university buildings. The city went into revolt." Bindo watched his face. "Theed is no more. It is a ruin with only those who fled surviving."

There was the sound of claws, and four Druhunds came running in, followed by Mari. She had changed in the past year. Gone was the timid woman that had quailed at the thought of a prince's wrath. She was supple and well muscled in the clothes of the Mando'a. As the hunds came to Riyal she sighed in exasperation.

"I am sorry, Dru. They got away from me again." The leader of the pack, standing even with Dru's waist held a struggling kit. She nudged his hand and he took the bundle, his hand above it's head where it mewled, and began to gnaw on his thumb.

"Solty, you are supposed to raise them, not me." He said chidingly. He looked at the boy. "We accept this debt, and will expiate it. Even if we march alone." He motioned and one of the warriors in armor went to draw Mari aside. They spoke, and for a moment, the girl looked stunned, then collapsed into the comforting arms

"We will not march alone, my husband." Mari wiped her eyes, then came over, taking the sleeping baby as Taarna stood. "All of those that have become Terakian have the clans they came from, and they will assist at request. We will see how these mjurderers fight when facing warriors. Oya Manda!"

Pel flinched when he heard the answering shout from behind him. Dozens stood there, and on each face he saw the same thing. Anger.

The figure in armor came around them, then wrapped his arm around Mari. "You will stay home, wife."

"I will not, Shema." Her own arm encircled him.

"But our child." He protested. He gently touched her stomach, and her hand held his to her possessively.

"Our child is Mando'a as I have become, as I am." She looked up angrily, thinking of her own family now dead. "And I feel the need to gain revenge as much as our War chief."

He chuckled, nuzzling her face. "Oya manda, my love."


End file.
